“Dad! Can you smell that?”
This is never a comfortable question coming from a four year old.
I smile. He’s a few months early, but I smell it too. Last week the thermometer in my truck registered -4º F. Yesterday, February 5th, it was 53ºF and sunny.
Winter in Connecticut.
As a life-long New Englander I know I need to take advantage of the warmth, who knows when it will return.
“Okay boys, I am going to workout with the tire, so leave me alone for a little bit. I have to get to a hundred,” I announce.
“Ok!” they lie as they run from the playscape to the trampoline.
The tire was a gift. My dad picked it up from a farm equipment supplier. My wife wrapped it in a bow for Christmas.
My health journey is eclectic. I’ve spent years in the gym, I’ve trained for and run a half marathon, I’ve studied Judo, I’ve had two personal trainers, I’ve participated in mini-triathlons, and I’ve run a Tough Mudder.
I’ve been through a CrossFit phase, a rowing phase, and I am currently on a kettle-bell and functional strength phase. Yesterday, I inquired about competing in the Highland Games.
I know what I need to do, and my knowledge is extensive, I just can’t seem to find the one workout that sticks.
My current workout is big, heavy and frozen to the ground.
I roll it behind the garden. It splashes down with a muddy thud. I inch my fingers under it and squat down. I pop it up easily. The mud splatters my shirt as it falls. Ten flips to one end of the garden, ten flips back to the beginning.
On and on we turn, the never ending cycle of man vs. exercise. My hands start to ache and my back is on fire. My legs are warming up and sweat stings my eyes. It doesn’t seem too hard at first, but soon enough I’m doing math:
“I’ve done thirty, that means I have seventy to go. No, wait, this length will be thirty. Ok wait, if the first length ends on an odd number and I am headed back to the start that means it will end on an even number…damn, now I lost count…ok so I think this is my third length and I am halfway through so…”
The grunts become louder. The rest at the end of the garden becomes longer. The boys want me to record them doing tricks on my phone, “Ok, but just for a minute,” I say with relief.
Mud from my fingers smudges across the screen. I am breathing heavily. Part of me wants to quit right here. I’m halfway through, that’s pretty good for my first time out, isn’t it?
I can feel the tire behind the garden. It’s mass has a gravity to it, pulling me back.
At flip number seventy, my mindset changes. It’s gonna feel so good to get there, to get to one hundred. Nothing can stop me. I am a machine. I can feel the mush transforming into iron.
There’s just something about an outdoor workout.
Yes! this is it, I’ve found what will get me healthy!
This sucks, but in a good way! I am committed to this!
“Dad! I have a bloody nose!”
I sigh as I pull my hand out from under the thick wet rubber. The kid is leaking everywhere. He’s tough but I can see a tinge of fear in his eyes.
“Ok, Bud, no problem, let’s go.”
We fumble our way into the house, shedding muddy clothes and boots as we go.
I feel guilty as I head into the kitchen. We were out there too long. I have to get dinner made before basketball practice which is thirty minutes from now. I can see the tire halfway down the garden path. It sits there waiting, wondering where I went.
I didn’t reach my goal.
The ache in my shoulders disagree with me.
I suppose it’s like life. We strive for our goals. They sustain us, they gives us hope, but sometimes we focus so much on finishing, we don’t appreciate the journey.
What if the mud and the sweat and the pain is what we strive for?
Who would we become? What would we value?
It might just make us love ourselves a little more.
Owner Spowerks LLC
For proper tire-flipping technique check out this link!