The Finish Line Is A Dangerous Place: Part 3

If you stretch yourself… I mean really go for it… dispense with the excuses and the bullshit and timid resignation of society… and grit your teeth and push through… you’ll eventually cross a finish line. It’s awesome. And it’s dangerous.

Attaining a hard-won goal is the very moment when you’re weakest. That’s a bit of wisdom I’ll pass on free of charge because I was just reminded of it. One inch across the metaphysical finish line, I was crushed. Take a gentle reminder from my mistake.

If you’re going to push it, prepare an end game.

The greater the challenge the more likely you’ll be spent when (if) you emerge on the other side. If you’re not going to keep some tiny sliver in reserve (and why would you do that?) you must plan for the consequences. I blew it on that front.

My challenge was mostly physical. I’m no spring chicken. I gave every bit I had. Maybe some other fellow would have breezed through but that’s him, not me. I hit the wall and kept going. Possibly this was unwise. Too bad. I did it anyway. After I was done I staggered home and collapsed in bed.

Here’s the problem. Time didn’t stop. Nor did the world. I’d been imagining it would. I’d been focused on the goal. I didn’t plan for anything immediately after it. I forgot that the world doesn’t give a shit about my little vision quests.

The next day arrived without so much as a nod acknowledging what I’d done. My personal great achievement had no affect on the universe outside of my own head. The sun rose mercilessly.

As always, I had shit to do. I had work, one of the kids was sick, the dog needed walking, I had to take the trash to the dump, and nobody was much impressed that scraping my aching body out of bed was about all I could do. I was a mess! In my mind I’d expected a few days of inertia but I didn’t lay the necessary groundwork. I should have planned better.

Physical exhaustion can happen to anyone. No matter how tough you are you have a limit. Ironically, if you’re filled with grit it just raises the stakes; it lets you double down on the strength and stamina you’ll put into a physical challenge. It’s helpful during crunch time but it leaves you a shell in the aftermath.

A couch potato, lacking grit, won’t understand. They’ll crap out at the first hint of adversity, paradoxically allowing them to spring back quickly from their feeble attempts. They won’t fathom the way some of us push much farther and damn the consequences. Which is precisely what I’d done.

Having spared nothing, I stumbled; crashing into the new day. I’m older than I once was. I couldn’t easily shrug it all off and walk on. Nor was I willing to bail on my regular daily obligations. I was too stubborn. Too crotchety. Too unforgiving of myself to bail on my obligations. Why would I? I was exhausted to the core but not sick.

What’s worse is I had a travel situation. Travel is its own challenge. In a daze, I packed my truck and rolled out. I had aches and pains everywhere. I stopped often to walk around the truck lest my joints seize up. I paid extra attention to my driving to make sure I was safe. I drank bottles of water like hydration was my profession. I shifted hotel reservations to make things easier. I drove a little slower. I was very careful.

During the long drive I received bad news. The death of someone I held dear. It would have been sad news in any situation but exhausted and limping down the highway made it harder. Sadness cut like a knife. Fate knows when you’re venerable and it’ll kick you when you’re down. We all have low points in life. That was one of them.

I could do nothing but drive on. I had shit to do.

Everyone bitches about their employer and I’m no different. That said, I always do my best. My dad, to his immense credit, valued work and imbued that spirit in me. If someone’s going to cut me a paycheck then by God I’ll earn it. So, it came to be that not long after “crossing the finish line” and still mourning a death, I was in another time zone, ready to work; standing in the mud and wondering if it would rain. I really didn’t want to get cold and wet. I had a rain jacket and appropriate gear but I was in no shape for a chill. I had bruises, bent limbs, creaky knees, and a throbbing head. Add a chill and I’d probably seize up like a pretzel! Fate, for once, let me slide. The rain didn’t come. I got my work done, good and solid. All the while doing my best to pretend I was twenty years younger.

I suppose I could claim it all was a success. I met my goal and still did all the things that needed doing. (I even took out the trash.) I was an excellent employee. I got to the job site on time and standing. I didn’t slack off, though I did move slow. I didn’t pass out and wreck my truck. I did everything I had to. Then I drove home. Slowly. Mile after mile. Still mourning a death and wishing I’d realistically planned my recovery.

It could have been so easy. A wiser man would have seen it coming and evaded at least some of it:

Boss: “What’s this about you requesting a few days of vacation time?”

Me: “I intend to slay a personal dragon, improve myself, and attain a new plateau. I’m going to need three days to lay on the couch drinking Gatorade when I’m done.”

Boss: “Whatever. Put it on the calendar.”

It seems pretty simple in retrospect doesn’t it?

For what it’s worth, I have no regrets. How can you regret doing your best? Further, if you don’t periodically push yourself to the limits how do you know where they are? I just made a rookie mistake. I failed to give myself adequate recovery time. I will learn from this.