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.
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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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