Sundays for me – particularly since I work a rotating schedule at my full-time gig — are a mixed bag of high pressure work or low key relaxation. Some Sundays I'm off, and can stay at home to enjoy the wondrous chaos of home. For me, low key relaxation means quality time with the wife, my high-spirited son, and my time-stealing computer. But some Sundays I have to work my full-time gig. And today is one of those Sundays. Bummer.
Today I woke up and realized that I only have two weeks to work off my Heineken-thick layer of fat that's hiding my six-pack. Bummer. That means two weeks of long distance running, extra deep-heavy squats and hours of yoga. Ole boy needs to get his body into swim suit condition for our four-day Galveston cruise. I wanna look like I did last year when we went to Antigua, but I’ve come to realize I’ve probably started one too many pecan pies late. First thing this morning, I suggested to wife that she wake up to keep an eye on the son while I go for a run. He's already awake and putting in his orders for full-time attention. "I want my breakfast. I want to watch cartoons. Where's my airplane?" The wife has another suggestion. "Let's ALL go running together!
Ok, I'm not gonna burn off much fat running along side the son on his training wheeled bike. When I go running, I go running. And although I don't do any real distance, I do like to get my heart rate up to a high beats per minute. Well, I didn’t work up much of a sweat, but the son, with his grown-up mouth, and his not-wanting-to-steer-his-bicycle-straight-so-he-fell-off-nine-times self, surely worked up my heart rate. But in the end, the wife said she had a nice time. And she said it with a smile and a little glimmer in her eyes. So foregoing my little self-indulgent pursuit was worth the time spent with those who kinda don’t mind my Heineken paunch. And I had a nice time, too.
Well, once again, I'm off to work, leaving the wife and son at home on a beautifully sunny Austin afternoon, where I'll sit at my computer, pretty much bored, unless something newsworthy (something terrible) happens in this world to give a brotha something to graphically report. Bummer.