I've started coming out of hibernation the last few days, since the sun started shining and the temperatures actually reached the 60s for more than one day at a time. I may have written something like that already earlier this year; I can't be sure. But that string of rainy weather the last month and a half or so has really brought about the second coming of cabin fever.

I might have wished for the sunshine a few times, but I must admit that there were opportunities that I neglected. Sometimes I feel like I just don't want to do anything, especially on cold or rainy days. Some people call it the ‘blahs,' but others might call it mild depression. I call it plain old laziness. As I went through my "to-do" list recently, I noticed that my ‘rainy day' list-things that can be done indoors or on rainy days-actually is longer than the list of things that need to be done on sunny days. I was very surprised when I realized that.

But you know, after letting a motor sit for months on end, it's much harder to get it started than it is if you run it a little bit every week. My ‘motor' is the same way. Once it gets going, it smooths out pretty well. However, it can be a real beast to get started. It's always easier to think of reasons why not than it is to just do it; kind of like the saying "I'm getting tired just thinking about it." All these starting analogies may have come about when I tried to start my push mower. It just wouldn't do it for me and I surrendered after pulling the cord some 25 times or so. It isn't easy to admit that I felt like I might have a heart attack after the 15th pull. I tried not to let on, so when asked a question, I answered, acting as cool as possible, while trying to hide the fact that I could feel my heart beating in my neck and that I was short of breath. Later I filled it with fresh gas, cleaned the spark plug and air filter, adjusted the throttle and still had to leave it running for some 15 minutes before the engine would smooth out. No doubt it got water in the gas while sitting under the oil barrel behind the house over the winter.

Yep, it's springtime again, I thought after huffing and puffing my way through mowing the little strip of inclined real estate behind the house Spring is coming out time for all of us winter people-pale, light-sensitive, overweight and out-of-shape folks who wander out into the sun blinking madly as if for the first time. It's also a great opportunity to find out the limits of your own mortality, or at least vitality, I thought as I gulped down a glass of cool water.

I moved a big rock out of my yard and carried it up the hill prior to mowing the lawn (it was the first time this year). It was on top of the hill to start with, but somehow ended up rolling nearly into the neighboring field some 30 feet way. In looking at a task, I still have the eyes of a 20 year old to go with the back of a 40 year old and the conditioning of a 80 year old. I see the rock and think I can carry it like a 20 year old, but I should know better like an 80 year old. Wouldn't it be nice to have the fitness of a youth and the wisdom of an elder? It's kind of cruel that humans have the most physical potential at a time in life when they have the least wisdom to back it up.

Anyway, a spine that is conditioned to nuzzle a recliner shouldn't be used for the first time of the season to carry giant rocks. It's just not smart. As I hefted it, the moment of truth came as I reached the halfway-up point. Isn't that always where reality catches up with you? That's when you have to decide if you're going to go on up and risk hurting your back or if you're going to drop it and risk losing a few toes or, even worse, your pride.

I stood on up with it and walked a few steps before I felt the stone, which probably weighed around 200 pounds, start to slip. It was succumbing to the eternal pull of gravity and I had little choice but to go along for the ride.

In a last ditch effort, I placed it against my uplifted thigh and hobbled up the hill as if crippled. Actually, that wasn't far from the case and might have been reality had I moved it another 20 feet. Every time I tried to lift it back up toward my chest, my back told me in no uncertain terms that it was not a good idea to do anything other than sitting it down.

Heedless of the protest, I finally dropped the stone on a rock pile and stood upright gingerly, fearing reprisals from my abused muscles-muscles that were being asked to do things other than stand up and walk to the kitchen for a snack for the first time this season. As of this writing, I've had no lasting ill effects.

My back is a quirky thing. Sometimes I can work like a slave carrying heavy rocks or railroad ties, bending and stooping, dragging things and throwing things. Other times I can just stand up and feel like everything came out of joint. I still don't understand how it works, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to quit working just because I had hurt myself in the past. I figure it's better to take a risk with the possibility of either a good or bad outcome than it is to give up and never try at all.

Well, at least that's how I feel when my back isn't hurting.

You know, I was thinking the other day that maybe I need to find at least a few bad habits to take up. Since I've given them all up, I've lost what once were great excuses for poor conditioning. For instance, when I was a smoker many years ago, I could blame that habit for the fact that I was out of breath. "Darn cigarettes," I would say as I tried to trudge up a hill. Now I lack excuses. What am I going to say, "Stupid milk? Doggone broccoli?" Either sounds better than "ignorant lack of exercise." I don't even drink soda pop very often. So my ever-expanding gut, shortness of breath and lack of conditioning can't be blamed on anything or anyone other than me.

A few months ago I listed that I had started working out on a machine that sits idly by in the living room most of the time. But at some point in the game I figured that it looks so good sitting there that I might better just leave it be. After all, it's big and metal and heavy and I might hurt myself pulling it out into the middle of the room, I reasoned.

Why would one expend energy pointlessly to exercise when one can be productive and work out at the same time? Wouldn't that make me like a dog chasing his tail? Well, at least the dog doesn't run out of breath walking up the hill, I acknowledged.

The problem of less-than-perfect health remains one that I will only be able to fix when I first fix my own attitudes and actions. Going to bed too late, eating too much too late and exercising too little are ingredients of a vile recipe for cooking up disaster. However, it is a meal, like many unhealthy treats, that I have consumed gluttonously and often.
 

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