Day Sixty-Five: Chestercize

I don’t think “chestersize” is a word. After attempting the pushup-centric workout on FitStar this morning, by golly I’m gonna try to make it one. I was feeling pretty good on the exercise front, and tried to strike out in a new direction.

I got slapped down hard. By my iPhone.

A bunch of thoughts on that: first, I’m pretty happy with my attitude. It wasn’t “this is impossible and I’m never going to do it again.” It was “this is really freakin’ hard and it’s going to take a long time to get good at it.” I’m trying to visualize a future me who can do typewriter pushups and get to that guy.

Chestersize gets stupider the more I think about it.

Now it just sounds like something to slim your chesterfield. Which is crazy. And apparently “chesterfield” is an Ontario regionalism for “couch” that isn’t used anywhere else, so now everyone is confused.

Chesterfield.

Anyway. I’m pretty happy with the running; fairly routine 6ks, building back up to two or three 10ks a week once the weather gets consistently good.

It’s a bit frustrating, because I can remember a time in my life when I could do 100 pushups. It existed. And I’m never quite sure what I should be thinking is reasonable to re-attain, and what, at 43, I just need to look at and say “that day will never come again.”

I think I’m okay with giving up on some things, if the alternative is eternal frustration and serious injury.

But with the Internet, it’s too easy to find the fringe cases. Genetic anomalies that get into bodybuilding at 65 and are benching 400 pounds at 70. It’s hard to gauge what I can expect as an average person with a job and a life. I don’t have 90 minutes a day for the gym (or the money for a gym membership). I can’t afford a trainer. I’m just a reg’lar fella. I don’t know what I can expect from chestersize.

So for now, I’m sticking to pushing my boundaries with things like FitStar and trying to take failing as a goal marker rather than a frustration.