In grad school, I learned that, when left to my own devices, my most productive hours are between 10:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m. Which is all well and good when you're in grad school, and you don't have to be anywhere the next morning till 10:00, and nobody cares if you rolled out of bed at 9:55, pulled on some sweats, and ran to class, making it through the next hour swigging coffee and eating a donut.
Last night, I did a repeat of my 10:00 to 2:00 schedule. It's a little different when the alarm goes off at 7:30. And you're supposed to be presentable at work. Where someone actually expects you to think. And, between you and me, I think the fact that I'm about 15 years older might have something to do with it too. My body was much more willing to function on chocolate croissants when I was twenty -- now it seems to want more difficult fuels -- like vitamins, sleep, and (shudder) vegetables. Not fair, not fair!
Which, again, gets me back to the so-called theme of this journal. Clearly, there was a time when making my body do adventurey things would have been easier, and I let that time pass me by, out of a combination of total disinterest and an apparently mistaken belief there wasn't a clock running on this. And now that I am interested, it's going to take work to be in the shape I was at NATURALLY ten years ago. Again: Not fair, not fair!
But oddly ok -- because along with the extra decade comes a teeny bit of wisdom, which recognizes that the journey to be able to do this stuff is part of the fun, too.
Do you know why I'm doing it? So the male Kiwis don't point and laugh. At least not over my inability to walk down the street.
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