Over the last few weeks, I have been exercising my privilege as a tax-paying citizen of Portland to attend the city-run jogging and pilates classes in the park. Motivated by 5 AM wake-ups to drop Sylvia off at the airport, I figured that I should make the most of my mornings on Tuesdays.
I have not always been so enthused with prioritizing exercise. Throughout my life, I have had a mixed relationship with fitness, finding it to be both a bothersome burden and a relenting relief. As the youngest of three boys, and the one with the middle school pre-glow-up midsection, I felt like I was running both literally and figuratively to catch up. My father and brothers were more athletically inclined and their inherent competitive characteristics kept them on the starting lineup. While still participating, I was more on the third or fourth string (the fact that I can even make these sports metaphors is telling enough as to the amount I was immersed in the culture — offside, first down, grand slam). With my bench-warmer status, my father and brothers never made me feel less-than, but the palpable disappointing distance was undeniable. My biggest critic was myself, as it typically goes. No matter what I could achieve as I jogged up the hills around our home or caught one in ten passes that came my way in street football, I always came away from the experience with my heavy heart aching.
In high school, I sized up activities that were a better fit to my interests and abilities, joining a roller hockey team, playing pick-up ice hockey, and taking another run at jogging. My relationship with my new rigors was not necessarily a linear or exponential growth, but they felt like they were mine and that was enough to keep going. I even had some quality-time overlaps, going jogging with my father, keeping pace and taking it in stride. At one point, we even discussed a pipe-dream about running the LA Marathon together.
At Michigan State University, I continued on familiar fronts, sticking around for ice hockey at our university rink whenever I felt bold enough to carry over fifty pounds of goalie gear. I would also exercise a lack of caution, going for below-freezing runs in the winter and spring months — culminating in a Rocky run up the state capitol steps with my friends, Jeremy and Marina.
In my adult years, I have been more inclined to exercise for practicality and longevity — replacing long runs with short ones, going on bike rides with the intention to pick up groceries, and indoor rock climbing with friends (thanks for hanging in there, Maxim). While some may argue that scaling plastic hand-holds up an artificial wall might not amount to anything practical, which one of us would be able to pull themselves up on a literal cliffhanger? On second thought, don’t hold me to it.
Some other stretches I have made in my weekly fitness routine as of late have been inspired by Sylvia’s physio and barre classes as well as what I can take away from pilates. As to not let it slip through my fingers, I have been doing a set of 16 pre-dinner pushups — a hold over from JFK’s presidential fitness program — paired with a sixty-second plank. Some of you who might’ve feasted with us over FaceTime were also jeered to join in.
Whether my experiences with staying fit as a fiddle continue to be as dynamic as freeform jazz or follow a more one-note pop music approach, I’ll keep it going until, well…
Find out on next week’s Earsdropping!
That cold, rainy, early spring state capital run did irreparable damage to my nips