10/16/07: It's all cosmetic

I took a chance today. It could have blown up in my face and I would’ve had to deal with the consequences. No, I didn’t place my life savings on some sure thing. I didn’t try to beat a train to an intersection before the barricades came down. And no, I didn’t rob a bank. I decided not to go to the gym until the end of the day. ( Go ahead, join everyone else in the collective rolling of eyes.)

Some people drink a cup o’ joe. Some read the paper before leaving the house in the morning. I exercise. When I don’t exercise in the morning, the day just doesn’t start off right. It takes me longer to really wake up. I’m sluggish. I get complacent. I might sit and stare at my computer for 15 minutes straight wondering what I’m supposed to do next, and my mind is like the etch-a-sketch that has just been shaken clean. I get this anxiety about whether or not I’m going to get to workout that day. I’m not terribly alert. I’m not creative. I’m stuck in a rut. It’s my grande half caf mocha latte no foam. I need it.

I guess I get like this because there are times when my job has me traveling so frequently that I don’t get to work out regularly, and then all of that eating out catches up to me. There’s that moment of truth every morning when you step out of the shower and it’s just you and the mirror. Clothes can’t hide that. It’s funny, when I was in college, and was a competitive athlete all of the working out had such purpose, there was a nobility to it. It was such an affirmation that you had put in the necessary blood, sweat and tears. It told you that when you came up against that guy that your dad and every coach warned you about (you know the guy, the one that’s shooting 1000 shots a day when you’re only shooting 500, or running 10 miles when you’re running only 5), you’d actually beat him. We used to have a word for somebody that just did all of the exercises that look good to the ladies (curls, bench press, etc.), and that had no bearing on improving their game. We’d call them “Cosmetic”. What an insult that was.

Well, color me cosmetic. With only an occasional Adult League or pick-up game to get ready for, I’m hardly getting in playoff shape. I’m not doing that extra rep so that I’ll hit that shot or get that rebound with 5 seconds left in Game 7. There’s really only two reasons to be a regular at the gym. The first is pretty practical. I’m pretty tall, and as a result have to get a lot of clothes tailored. If I spend a lot of money on a suit, I sure don’t want to grow out of it. The other reason, I’ve alluded to before. It’s all about looking good naked. That’s it. (I hope my mother isn’t reading this). Oh yeah, there are the health benefits, but reading about that here is like me telling you to eat your vegetables and floss your teeth. It’s not sexy.

When I’m not traveling, I like to keep to my workout routine. There’s no excuse. I made myself a morning person about 10 years ago when I figured out that this was the only sure-fire way to get the workout done. Otherwise, something always comes up. The day has a way of getting away. It just gets me going. It makes me feel good. At the very least, on a lazy day, I can at least point to that as an accomplishment before I lay my head down to sleep.

I’m happy to report that it actually, well… “worked out” for me today. As planned, I got to the gym at 5pm, and had a pretty good workout. Unfortunately, I did get a bit of unsettling news while I was warming up on the Lifecycle. LA came up to me and asked if I’d heard about Chuck. At first, I was having a hard time picturing whom he was talking about. I’d played pick-up ball with both of these guys dozens of times. I should know their names. Unfortunately, or not, depending on your vantage point, it is rare for any of us to know more than a nickname or some initials. Knowing a guy’s first name is almost the equivalent of having been the best man in his wedding, or knowing him since 3rd grade. It is almost completely unheard of to know a first AND last name. For the record, LA’s name is Louis (I knew his last name at some point, but can’t recall it now). Recalling some conversations with Chuck, I knew that he had attended St. Elizabeth’s High School, worked for the City of Oakland and was a pretty successful Real Estate investor. He had a knack for being real hot or real cold. Many times, Chuck had hit jump shots from what seemed like Kansas, some times 3 or 4 in a row, using that funny push shot of his, one foot in front of the other has he landed. I remember him hitting a game winning shot about 2 steps across half court, with me guarding him on a particular occasion, all of us in dis-belief as he ran out of the gym and straight to the locker room with a big smile on his face. Other times he might miss 8 in a row. Always a competitor though.

Well, as I pedaled away, LA proceeded to tell me that Chuck passed away last Friday. He was only 42. He apparently was rushed to the hospital when his appendix burst and had a heart attack on the operating table. Chuck was a good dude. I remember having a conversation with him about a trip he had taken to the Dominican Republic. He seemed to get away for an excursion or two every now and then. I would see him out about town hanging out sometimes. He seemed to live life. I didn’t know all sorts of personal details about him, but he was well liked in the circle of guys that regularly play at the gym. I will say a prayer for his family and loved ones before I go to sleep tonight. We’ll miss you, Chuck.