Written April 30, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Yesterday’s schedule came with extra side quests—including an unexpected journey into the land of Root Canal—which left me with a zero on the plank scoreboard. Not a single session. Nada. Zilch.
Now, before the Fitness Police come knocking, let me plead my case. First, I was out of the house for hours because a dentist decided to drill into my soul (well, technically my tooth, but same vibes). Second, I was warned that once the anesthesia wore off, my jaw would throb in sync with my heartbeat like an EDM concert. So anything that might elevate my heart rate—say, planking—was officially off the table. Because nothing says “bad idea” quite like throbbing pain in your skull while pretending to be a human ironing board.
So yes, I had a good excuse. But I also know: excuses don’t cancel consequences. They just soften the guilt.
Today, however, was redemption day. I rolled out my mat and got to work, attempting to chip away at the planking debt like a fiscally responsible core warrior. I’ll try to sneak in more sets before the day ends, because… just because. (Discipline is mysterious like that.)
My wife once told me that missing a day of piano practice set her back a whole week. So, during her serious piano era, she would tap those keys every chance she got—like a caffeinated Mozart. But muscles aren’t like piano scales. You can’t binge your way back to strength. Hit the same muscles too soon, and you’re more likely to get a complaint letter from your own body.
Still, skipping a workout unsettles me—way more than it logically should. After my stroke, when I couldn’t move at all, I made a quiet promise to myself: if I ever got mobility back, I’d use it. Every skipped session feels like I’m letting that promise fade a little.
I’ve made peace with the past. I carry it with me—not as baggage, but as a reminder. My wife has this old car that’s nearly 20 years old. She maintains it like it’s a classic Ferrari. Not because it’s fancy, but because it’s hers. She’s grateful it still runs. I guess I treat my body the same way. It may not be shiny, but it still moves, still works, still gets me through the day—and for that, I’m deeply grateful.
I’ve never been a super athlete. I don’t sprint past people or crush personal bests on leaderboards. But I show up. I work. I move.
As of now, I’ve done two planks. The goal is to hit five today—six if I’m feeling spicy. That way, I’ll be one session closer to balancing my plank budget. And tomorrow? I’ll settle the score.
Because the only thing worse than sore abs… is regret.