To all the push-ups I’ve owed before
Today, I closed the book on another year of daily push-ups. Over the past twelve months, I knocked off 72,800 of them. I know that’s chump change compared to the North shore chiropractor who just banged out a record-smashing 22,000 in 24-hours. But since I began my practice five years ago, tallying up the yearly total has always been a mini thrill, a shot of self-confidence and pride. And to commemorate each passing year, I add another 25 push-ups to my routine.
As some of you may know, my friend and all-around stellar human Emily inspired me to take on the daily 100. I’ve never met someone who draws so much meaning and instruction from this simple practice. She has elevated the humble push-up to art form and spiritual journey — a way to be bold, to be humble, to be strong, to be vulnerable. She is an unabashed ambassador for the practice. Emily has dropped push-ups in her wedding dress, between floors on an elevator, and raced through a set in an airplane aisle with drink carts coming from both directions. When it comes to public push-ups, if I’m waiting around, I might work a few sets in a parking lot (usually between cars). But it’s hard for me to get past the feeling that I’m wanting people to notice. Somehow, Emily never comes off that way; in fact, she makes every push-up feel inviting, inspiring. A way to conquer self-consciousness.
I recently met Emily for a run and, of course, we talked push-ups, specifically about the debt mentality. I’m fastidious about my daily practice, and if I miss any sets or even the whole bunch, because of injury or illness, I write the number on the fridge and chip away until my deficit is erased. The sum can mount pretty quickly. “I used to do that, too,” Emily said. “But now I invest in the future by doing a few extra sets here and there. That way if I miss for any reason, I can draw from the bank, rather than having that mindset that I have to play catch up.” How liberating. And simple. I thought of the “120” scribbled on my whiteboard and the weight I feel when I go to grab the milk, the digits still staring at me. “Owing” creates a negative frame of mind, of being behind, of guilt.
Emily and I ran to Harvard Stadium to climb some stairs with another friend, Pamela, who also has an Emily-inspired push-up routine. In between sections, we all dropped to our hands. Emily’s push-ups are measured and precise, respectful in their perfection. But I noticed while she was doing sets of 15, I was knocking off 30s, yet I was finishing before her. I realized that as I had added more reps to my routine over the years — climbing to 200 a day — I had been doing them faster, perhaps in an effort to reach completion more quickly. I’ve always struggled with fast-forward syndrome. Often as soon as I begin something, I want to jump to the end, so I can relish the experience and anticipate the next one. So I started speeding up. But stopped paying attention to my form. I wasn’t straightening my elbows at the top, arms too tight to my sides, and my torso more involved than my lower body. Man, I’d been doing them wrong for who knows how long! Watching a video Pamela shot of Emily and me side by side, I felt like Mickey Rourke at the end of “Angel Heart” realizing in horror that he wasn’t who he thought he was. My pursuit of bigger and bigger game had distracted me. Right then and there, I decided instead of my annual addition of 25 and boosting my new count to 225, it was time to get back to basics, to the simple 100, and concentrate again on doing them slowly and correctly, in the moment, and with intention. A solid 36,500 is better than a haphazard 82,185.
When we try to climb too fast, our eyes can get locked on that mountain peak, lusting for the amazing view that awaits, rather than on the trail that will get us there. Better to master small patches than go for broke in a sloppy manner. In other words, it was time once again to try and be like Emily. And the cool thing is she never said a word, never commented on the bloated size of my daily number, and whether my form was still intact. After our last stadium section, I paid off the rest of my debt and deposited an extra set in the bank. I decided to invest in the future, too, but keep my eyes on the present, and worry less about moments that I missed or that have yet to come. And that’s a pretty freeing place to be, if just for fifteen minutes a day. Maybe this year, I’ll even come out from the shadows of the parked cars and drop a few sets during the grocery store rush. Maybe.
