My stream of consciousness post from yesterday as I was traveling from Baltimore to England and was barely conscious yesterday. As always, props to Linda Hill for the prompt.
Excuses are like assholes – they all stink and everyone’s got one.
Words of wisdom from my high school football coach. And, was it just our team, or do all high school football coaches cuss? Not that it fucking bothered me at all, as I enjoy a bit of a swear word (fuck being my favorite word of all time).
Additional pearls from two of the other coaches:
“If ifs and buts were candied nuts my aunt would be my uncle.” This one is fun to say – and the expression on my youngest daughter’s face – she’s 13 – as she tried to puzzle it out when I busted this out a few weeks ago was priceless. It’s also about excuses, in a way, I suppose in that there isn’t any “if” or “but” in sports, you either do it or you don’t. There’s not a lot of gray, even in high school football.
My other favorite is our offensive line coach screaming at one of my teammates:
“What happens if the tackle crashes in on 26 sweep!?!/!!?”
“It doesn’t matter, coach?”
“That’s right. It just doesn’t matter! It just doesn’t matter!”
(26 sweep was a play in which the two guards – I was one – would pull to the right. If the defensive tackled crashed down, he was taking himself out of the play – it just doesn’t matter, so don’t block him. Minor aside – if I weighed as much now in high school, I could’ve killed people. I loved 26 sweep because it meant I got to hit someone about my size – 160 or so pounds – instead of dudes 50 to 100 pounds bigger than me. Loved crushing me a defensive back.)
Anyway, enough about my “Glory Days.” (I wasn’t very good, though I did love to play.)
Beyond that this is stream of consciousness Saturday, and I write these as pure SoC, I did learn some good life lessons playing sports.
Excuses do all stink – even though as we get older we often call them rationalizations.
I don’t have time is one of the great all-time excuses. Very rarely do we not actually have the time we want to do X in – exercise, learn a language, spend more time with family, write the great American novel, insert your own here. What we lack is the self-control to spend what time we have in the way we want it. I’ve got plenty of time to do the exercise that I know I need to do to
- Get into a wardrobe of great t-shirts and a few pairs of jeans that I’ve “outgrown.”
- Get back to the image of myself I still carry around in my head, but haven’t actually looked like in nearly 20 years.
- Look even better than that.
- Help get my blood pressure under control so I can stop taking medicine for it.
Instead, I piss away the time doing other things – playing Xbox, watching TV (football doesn’t count – note: not the football on in the background as I type this from my sister and brother in law’s couch in England, the good football with pads and hitting and crazy, one handed catches. Not that I don’t respect the athletic ability of footballers or don’t enjoy watching it, it’s just doesn’t fire me up like an NFL game. Geaux Saints today!), watching cat videos online, poking around on Facebook and taking those stupid, yet addictive “Which character are you?” tests.
Point is: we all have the time to do the things we want if we focus and make the effort. Instead, we use the activity in our lives as an excuse to not do the things we say are important to us.
(Though I make no excuses for watching football or playing my Xbox, I enjoy both activities immensely.)
However, for 2015, I’m tired of making the excuse about exercise. I’ve made the time to walk Oscar (the Boxer) daily (except when too cold or rainy) since I was “let go” from my job in late September. If I can do that, I can make the time to get my fat ass to the gym – or at least downstairs to my dumbbells for a quick, but effective work out.
So, when we return from England, it is to the gym and to the pavement (to train for the Baltimore 10-miler. Love that race, best swag going – sometimes even nationally).
Until then, I make no excuses about enjoying copious amounts of beer and cider and fish & chips and enjoying these two weeks. One last bacchanal.
No more excuses.
What do you do when you’re too tired to go the gym or a run?
It just doesn’t matter.
I’ll be taking myself anyway in 2015.
No more stinking.
No more excuses.