The Gauntlet

In 2006 the Florida Gator football team played—in succession Alabama, LSU, Auburn and Georgia.  All four teams were formidable opponents and the games fell in the heart of the schedule.  I referred to the four-game stretch as ‘the gauntlet.’  The Gators managed to win three of the four games and finish the season with their second National Championship by demolishing Ohio State in the BCS Championship. 

This past week I faced a gauntlet of my own.  There was something on my schedule calling for me to stay up much later than 9:30 p.m.—the time I target each night to get to sleep so I can maintain some semblance of coherence during the week.  If I had known in advance how much later I would be staying up I would have dreaded it that much more. 

Looking back on it now I’ve got to believe there may have been a moment or two when coherence couldn’t possibly have factored into the equation.    

Sunday

·      A 13-mile run in Roanoke, Texas at 6 a.m. to start the day.

·      A visit with Krischan before heading to the airport for our return flight to Atlanta.

·      A brief skirmish with the friendly folks at National Car Rental about the (according to them; they were out of their minds) damage or the lack thereof (according to Cindy and I, the sane participants in said skirmish) above the left front fender. 

·      A two-hour flight in cramped quarters on Spirit Airlines (the pilot announced on the intercom ‘bigger and faster airplanes’ in the near future—but not ‘new’ airplanes so I imagine they’re getting them at an airplane auction or from Craig’s List).

·      A couple hours of my usual routine after a trip: Wash clothes, pay bills, reassure the cats we’ll never leave them again (they’re funny that way), watch Breaking Bad and read the latest issue of Sports Illustrated that arrived in Saturday’s mail while we were in Texas.

·      Lights out at 11:30 p.m. (two hours past my 9:30 bedtime).

Monday

·      Wake up at 3:30 a.m. for a nine-mile run.

·      At work by 7:15 a.m. 

·      Four-hour meeting in the afternoon with my General Manager and four representatives from our new software management system company.

·      Four-hours of dinner and drinks (not necessarily in that order) with my General Manager and the four representatives.

·      Home by 9:30.  Cindy and my General Manager (he was staying with us for two nights) talk for two hours while I lapse in and out of consciousness on my lounge chair.

·      In bed by midnight.  Two down, three to go.

Tuesday

·      Wake up at 3:30 a.m. for a nine-mile run.

·      At work by 7:15 a.m.  My General Manager shows up at 8:15 and asked me why I went to work so early.  (Apparently he must have missed me doing it for the past 10 years).

·      Leave work at 4:15 p.m. 

·      Go to dinner with Cindy and my General Manager in Senoia at 7:15 p.m.

·      Make a trip to Cindy’s store at 9:00 p.m.

·      Home by 10 p.m.  Repeat what happened the previous night at 9:30 p.m.  Watch a recording of my summer guilty pleasure America’s Got Talent.   Spend 30 minutes after the show on my iPad voting for my favorites.  Make sure I don’t vote for the comedian whose entire routine was a series of three-word sentences he uses on his daughter: ‘Don’t do that!  Stop it now!  I’m your father!  Go to bed!’  This is funny?  Judges Howie Mandel and Howard Stern think so.  I think they’ve been paid off.

·      In bed by 11:30 p.m. (Total net deficit of sleep after three days: 6 ½ hours). 

Wednesday

·      Woke up at 3:30 a.m. for a nine-mile run.

·      At work by 7:15 a.m.  Obviously I didn’t capitalize on my General Manager’s comment from 23 hours ago.

·      Leave work at 4:15 p.m.

·      Music trivia at 7:10 p.m.  Our team is el fuego and we win convincingly, much to the chagrin and consternation of the mere mortals who can’t hold a candle to our wealth of musical knowledge.  We scoff at their feebleness.  (Note: If a member of the Mufftones or the Justice League of America is reading this—JUST KIDDING!*)

*Not.

·      Home by 9:30.  Watch the results show of American’s Got Talent.  (I got Cindy hooked on the show a couple weeks ago, my payback for her getting me hooked on Survivor many years ago). 

·      In bed by 11:30 p.m.

Thursday

·      Woke up at 3:30 a.m. for a nine-and-a-half mile run.

·      At work by 7:15 a.m.

·      Leave work at 4:15 p.m.

·      Meet three of my running pals for dinner at 6:30 p.m.  We share three pitchers of watered-down Dos Equis (nasty shit, which makes me question how and why we had three pitchers).  Somehow we manage to tick off our waitress; I assume it was Paula for telling her the guacamole she created for us at our table was ‘bland.’  I try to make amends by leaving a large tip.  I’m being very generous for someone not happy with the nasty shit they were passing off as beer.

·      Arrive home at 8:45 p.m.  Cindy wasn’t home yet.  My neighbors across the street whose daughter took care of our cats while we were in Texas last weekend are in their front yard, so I take them money for their daughter.  They invite me inside and we end up talking (and drinking non-watered down Sam Adams beer—God Bless America) for two hours.  I figured Cindy would call me when she got home once she saw my car in the driveway and couldn’t find me inside the house.  I figured wrong; she assumed I was already in bed.  I wish.   

·      Home by 11:00 p.m.  Talk to Cindy until midnight (well, not all talk). 

·      In bed by midnight (actually, in bed by 11:30 but asleep by midnight*).

*Yes, I can imagine pretty much every single thought from every single one of you

as you read that last sentence.

Friday

·      Woke up at 3:30 a.m. for a nine-and-a-half mile run.

·      At work by 7:15 a.m.  (See a pattern here?  Or perhaps I should say ‘rut?’)

·      Comatose for most of the day.  Pray none of my employees notice. 

·      Some do (notice).  Damn.

·      Realize I should have the spent day in my office with the door shut.

·      Leave work at 4:30 p.m.

·      Put load of clothes in the washing machine, turn on the television and fall in and out of consciousness until Cindy gets home at 9:45. 

·      In bed at 11.  I’m running with Al at 5:30 and I need to catch up on my sleep.  Total hours slept the past five nights = 19.  Total sleep deficit for the week = 11 hours.

Saturday (today)

·      10-mile run with Al at 5:30 a.m.

·      Quick trip to the grocery store.

·      Mow the lawn.

·      Write today’s story while trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, seeing as I’ve been whining about not getting any sleep and there’s a perfectly good bed in the room next to me that I’m pretty sure is calling my name at this very moment.   

‘I’ll rest when I’m dead.’

Those are the words of Duane, the handyman Cindy and I have been using for the past three years for various projects around the house.  Duane has a regular nine-to-five job Monday through Friday, but will take every (and I do mean every) opportunity he can find to pressure wash your house, install a fence or put a new surface on your garage floor.  All you have to do is ask and Duane will take care of it for you.  (My favorite Duane story: I asked him if he knew how to put down a new surface on a garage floor, and he said he did.  When Duane showed up one Saturday morning to do the job, the first thing he did was unfold a sheet of step-by-step instructions to find out how he was supposed to do something he already knew how to do, which if nothing else is the reason Cindy and I love Duane.  That and the fact he is incredibly affordable and does terrific work and no I’m not giving you his telephone number.)

I imagine Duane has a similar schedule this past week, but while I was watching Breaking Bad and America’s Got Talent, eating, drinking and playing music trivia Duane was reading over the instructions on installing a septic tank or building a robot.

After all, Duane isn’t dead yet.

Me?  Well, that’s another story.