The shortest and longest successive parts of my day are the period following the moment I put on my workout shorts and the workout itself. Once I put on my shorts and the could-stand-by-itself T-shirt, time shoots by like a city bus on the way to the garage. Once I start the workout, time moves with the speed and dexterity of a raging arctic glacier.
I have heard this time perception is an age thing. As we barrel towards out great reward (which I hope consists of tacos) time moves faster or slower in a situation based on factors such as newness of experience, cognitive speed, and how badly you need to go to the bathroom.
In any event, for about 30 minutes a day, I try to convince the gods of the rapidly aging that I am living responsibly. Same goes to some degree when I try to convince the gods of cholesterol that I am living healthy by eating salad-colored candy.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t hem and haw. In my workout clothes, I have written full emails, a partial story, edited 20 pages of text, cooked a chicken, and cleaned the entire apartment (windows included). There is virtually nothing I won’t do to try and delay the inevitable.
While I do this pre-workout regimen, Burke works and the dog sleeps or lounges, her bangs acting as a curtain to her current mood or actual state of awareness. I pull out the workout mat and can hear my downstairs neighbor groan aloud. I assume she is worried about my health and the sounds I make – something between a seal jumping out of the water for treats and a seal being bludgeoned by a polar bear – upset her.
Dogs are smart. Or are they? Is it that dogs are smart or do they just become aware of routine? When I take the leash off the door, the dog hops out of a deep sleep to play the game where she runs away from her leash. It’s very similar for when anyone goes into the kitchen. When I take out my exercise mat, she gets up and goes to her box of toys. She pulls the lid off of it and drags a few toys out onto my mat.
She thinks it’s play time. I get it. I am jumping, rolling, getting on my face. And surely someone could hear joyous laughter of a child from the shrieking pants of a middle-aged lapdog owner.
I begin. She begins. Push-ups are done with a dog trying to bite my ear. Sit-ups are done while wrestling a growling shih-tzu. Squats are her favorite, probably because I put a dangling doll in my pockets and she goes after it on my down-go. Throughout history, men have exercised and fought among animals. The gladiators battled tigers and lions; dogs and hunters made a unique bond and worked towards a common food-based, care-based goal; the symbiotic relationship between a man and a dolphin; pigeons carrying messages. This is part of that tradition: shih tzus and push-ups: the oldest sport.
In my cool-down, my shih tzu licks the sweat off my face and then lies back down and falls back to sleep. For me, it’s a long 30 sweaty minutes. To her, it’s 30 minutes of fun playtime plus a salty drink! Maybe my life would be better if I thought about time the way a shih tzu does. As long as I don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly.
