Focus…or perish. Clarity…one way or another.

Posted on November 18, 2024 by Daniel Meyer

Right to the VERY edge.

Finally my world centers back on me…back on my mind, my skills, MY heartbeat. It simply must…I’ve left it zero choice. My very life is at stake. It may already be forfeit. The jury’s still out on that.

Heavy rain. Flying water. Mist. Fog. The tires snapping through standing water on the roads and the hiss of the falling deluge nearly drowning out the sound of the big machine I’m astride.

Speeds haven’t climbed *quite* into the triple digits. That’s my ONE concession to the gods that are lined up to take my life tonight. There’s rather a lot of them. Some of them are other men’s gods. I remind myself that you don’t have to believe in those for them to utterly destroy you.

They can all…every last one of them…fuck right off. These hands. These senses. My perceptions. MY skills. They are what holds my life tonight…and that serves to remind me that they…are what holds my life the rest of the time too.

Lost in the noise. Politics. War. Death. Frantic people, suborned values, and mental illness somehow the “mainstream”.

Death. Up close and personal. Trying to help a friend through the loss of the 40+ year love of his life. Complicated of course by MY feelings on the matter. Since the loss was nothing less than a force of nature that, for better and worse, has been present my entire life. My friend is also my step-father. His love was my Mom. She’s moved on to better places.

The rest of us muddle on as best we can.

The ride. Stupid speeds in stupid weather. Pitch black. The headlights can’t penetrate the mire. Behind me when I glance in the mirrors…is simply a dim red of the taillights, lost in the massive rooster tails of water the big bike throws to mark its passage. Locked in my own little bubble. No help. Nothing but what I can see and feel right that second matters.

Too cold. Too wet. Too uncomfortable. Too little gear. Too little information.

An analogy for life, really.

The big bike squirms and wiggles…the standing water and high speed floating the tires at times…just a little bit. Enough? Too much? That edge. I’ll only know for sure if I push too hard and it manages to wipe me out.

There won’t be any warning. Another analogy for life. I find them in odd places.

That edge.

But that edge takes focus. The world…the noise…the amount of chafe my brain can process shrinks to that which is in front and underneath me. Hyper-focused on only that which keeps me alive in this very moment.

It’s illustrative…that focus. Refines and filters things down to what’s actually important. That clarity can be taken into the world after the ride…assuming there is one.

Fractional inputs on the controls. Careful manipulation of the massive power plant. Correct interpretations of the drifts and hydroplaning with instant and precise responses.

It’s a dance. There’s a lot at stake if I miss a step.

“What are we doing Boss?” the big bike seems to say.

She’s hard to hear over the noise. And I’m not talking about the rain.

Says something about how life’s been going.

I consider my answer. She requires them, but I can’t fool her. She’s an extension of my own will after all. Sometimes. More or less.

“Living…perhaps. Maybe dying.”

Depends on my focus.

We’ll know soon enough.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Work harder.

Posted on January 1, 2024 by Daniel Meyer

There’s a reason that at the core of every male fantasy story…whether it’s an action/adventure, rpg-lit, harem fantasy, animal companion…literally all of them…no matter the other trappings…the core of the story is a confidant…an unquestioned friend…immune from that “inevitable betrayal” in so many stories, perhaps a psychic animal companion that knows one down to the core…and has your back nonetheless. Whether it’s a psychic connection, friend forged in battle, a lover (or lovers), whatever…the core of the fantasy is someone or something that knows everything about you and stands by you anyway.

The reason it’s a fantasy is it doesn’t really exist in the real world for most. Problems? Uncertainties? Lost? Are you a grown man? Then suck it up. Plaster on the smile. Work harder. Nobody gives a shit.

-Most of our friends aren’t that close.
-The “battle buddy” trope is rare beyond counting…most of them are more broken than you.
-The childhood friend that could have been a confidant grew up and has their own serious problems and concerns, or a long separation of time and distance inevitable in adulthood have stolen them away.
-The psychic sentient animal companion doesn’t exist.
-And our lady lovers, no matter how close or long term, do NOT want to see the weak side of our soul or try to answer the unanswerable or worse yet, get tainted attempting to fight the ever persistent dark we keep at bay. It’s not that they *won’t*…they *cannot*…and trying to force it would indelibly alter the relationship…and not in a good way.
-Professional help is a dangerous trap. Firstly, there is no fix. You’re normal. Second, they only care as long as the insurance check clears, and if you really opened up, well, there’s an entire class of law that requires them to explicitly report those things to the authorities that can and will deprive you of your lifestyle, your property, your rights, your freedoms, and indeed on occasion, your life. Then of course, they wash their hands of the issue, and go on to the next sucker. The males among them that have survived more than a few decades will be silently thankful *they* didn’t open up…even as they forget you. That’s if you’re normal. God help you if you aren’t.

Nobody that can…gives a shit.

And so we suck it up and work harder. Some of us lucky ones find release in our passions, and pushing ourselves right to the *very edge* in a number of pursuits. We’re the lucky ones. The rest? Well they litter the streets of every city in every industrialized nation. Unless they killed themselves…there’s a reason 70% of suicides are men. Nobody that can…gives a shit about that either.

Find your peace. Pursue it with passion. Fight to keep it.

And let me know if ya find one of those physic/sentient animal companions. I may need one.

Meanwhile I’ll just keep talking to my motorcycle.

I’ll see you on the road.

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Less…

Posted on July 21, 2023 by Daniel Meyer

In recent weeks I’ve realized…I am…less.

Less impactful. Less organized. Less accomplished. Less healthy. Less movement forward. Less riding. Less dreaming. Less art. Less writing. Less time. Less of pretty much all the things I love.

Less. Well except for work…I am effective, there. The one place that demonstrably doesn’t care…and there is were my efforts seem to lie.

Again.

It’s a strange thing…all the ingredients are here…a literal lifetime of selling all but my soul…and maybe even pieces of that…to pull together.

And yet…less.

So thus began the pondering. Why? What changed? What’s the issue?

I can quickly answer the “still effective at work” thing. See, that’s cultural. That’s ingrained. There’s no place in society for me unless I’m productive…and with my rather “limited” resources growing up (means ‘poor’), working hard at the job is simply ingrained in me. Work or die was my environment. When it means survival, it becomes the default.

And that’s not always a good thing. Working hard? Yeah, that’s not going to stop. It can’t…but WHERE that work is applied needs to change. A man’s gotta know when it’s time to apply HIS resources to things that are closer to him…yanno…once survival is assured. And mine is, make no mistake. And I’ll best any man, government, or god that tries to wrest it from me.

As to the rest…I think it turns out to be rather simple…there’s an old entrepreneurial principle about achieving success…or at least movement:

Start before you’re ready.

I seem to have forgotten that.

Short of it, get moving on something, even if you are not fully prepared. I realized lately, that I’ve been reluctant to start on anything I wasn’t fully prepared to finish. All the materials. All the nuts and bolts. All the directions. Whatever.

In my own personal endeavors, I’m waiting. I’ve not been starting until I’m ready…Sad that. It used to be my default…but that was necessity as when ya don’t have two sticks to rub together…you HAVE to start before you’re ready. It’s how I climbed out of the mire.

But even out of the mire…the truth is you’re never really ready. If I keep waiting, I’ll never accomplish any of those things.

So…here we go. Time to get started. Again.

And I’m not ready.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Boxes and Boundaries

Posted on October 6, 2022 by Daniel Meyer

It’s no secret. I’m struggling with my fitness quest. Again.

The Fat Man In the Mirror is always there. He waits. He watches. He looks for any opportunity.

He finds them.

He has allies.

About the time I turned 50 is when I “woke up” so to speak. 420+ pounds. Severely diabetic. A handful of pills and TWO injections into my stomach every day. And still out of control. Fun stuff.

I wasn’t going to make it. The waking up part was hard…for reasons I’ll explore later…but the point is…once I realized that my life, quite literally, was forfeit unless I did something…it became somewhat easy to prioritize the things I needed to do.

Eat right.
Learn things.
Work out.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Those things were MIND-BOGGINGLY difficult to execute, but setting the priorities was pretty obvious.

What followed was some hard boundaries, hard decisions, and steep costs. I’m sure I lost job opportunities. I disappointed family and friends. I tested even, my spouse.

“Why so extreme? Why so stubborn?” were the gist of the questions that came from all around. Those were usually followed by the expressed disappointment that I wasn’t doing whatever it was they thought I should.

Hard that. I long ago learned there’s no place for me in this world unless I’m producing for others. That’s a side effect of working my way out of a couple of serious hell-holes and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that because of who and what I am and where I came from…that all those “safety nets” out there are specifically designed to exclude me. Until I escape that system, I produce, by others’ definitions of what that means, or I die.

It was painful, but the priorities were set. Literally my life was at stake. If it plunged me back into the hell I started in…well…I maybe I could work my way out of it again. Not real sure about that…one of the things I’ve sacrificed to produce…was my health. Scars on top of scars. Time to try to earn that back. “At all costs.”

An extreme solution sure…but that’s the only way to fix an extreme problem.

Extreme.

And THAT’S the point of my current…let’s just say…challenges.

When I started, if the pressure and questions persisted, my response could easily be, “My LIFE is at stake, and you’ve no right to demand that I give that up.”

Later, 200+ pounds gone. Cardiovascular system tuned up. Pain gone. Meds gone. Bike rides and moving iron. A lifetime of injuries and abuse slowly corrected. Painful surgeries and nightmare recoveries. Money and opportunities spent. But…Better than I ever was.

Humpty Dumpty…put back together again. All the King’s Men? They didn’t do shit.

It’s amazing what the human body can take…and can come back from.

The work and focus on my own fitness was less difficult to continue then…after that massive fight…because the boundaries had been set…and enforced…and habit set in. Those folks that couldn’t or wouldn’t cope were long “edited out”.

Everything was nicely contained in its appropriate and (mostly) correctly proportioned box.

Then…a series of challenges. A pandemic. Family illnesses. A home sale. A move. Job pressures. Big stuff, one after another. Legitimately tough challenges. The boundaries HAD to change. Habits HAD to break. Resources HAD to be redirected. I had to pull…well…MORE of ME from somewhere to bear on the problem or get steamrolled. The routine got nuked.

And make no mistake…it wasn’t just broken…it was shattered.

No problem, right? Get over the hump…beat the crises (yes, plural) and reset. Put the stuff back in its appropriate boxes and establish the boundaries. Easy, right?

But there was a critical element missing…and I didn’t understand its importance until now…

That element? Heh…I AM HEALTHY…my life is no longer immediately at stake.

The element that was missing, was “death”. Sure I need to take care of myself…but if I don’t…for the moment and unlike the last time…”death” is not imminent.

Hard to tell folks “no” for their perceived crisis when I don’t have an immediate one of my own.

Work, family, other things all expanded out of their boxes to consume the space…the box…that is for ME. Wedges were driven in. Habits…the wrong ones…set in. When I halfheartedly push back the result is every bit as painful as it was when I started this quest.

The Fat Man In the Mirror just sat back and laughed.

Eat right.
Learn things.
Work out.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Seems rather simple. I guess the concept is. The execution is profoundly difficult…and I’ve been struggling now for 8 months to reestablish my jumble of boxes…my boundaries…and cram everything back into its place. It has cost me.

At my lightest in this quest, I was at 203lbs. With my build and muscle, that was too light. I was gaunt. At my best body comp (15%) and where I looked the best, when working out and putting on muscle, I was at 220…which somewhere around there will remain my target.

I am currently 255. I’ve slipped. It’s not far…but it is, make no mistake, a slippery slope. The amount of work I’ve done…the pain I’ve endured…yeah. Not for nothing. I know what it takes…what it TOOK…and when I slip…it’s heartbreaking.

And that’s enough. I make no exaggeration when I say ‘I am NOT going back to what I was.’ I *hate* The Fat Man In the Mirror, he is not the man I thought I was or hoped to be…and I don’t fully understand how I got there…and I doubt I’ll ever come to terms with that.

But I am not going back.

Boundaries resetting. I have some logistics to work out to rebuild the boxes…but that’s happening. They are hard lines.

The Fat Man In the Mirror can suck it.

Oh, and if you’re reading this and my “selfishness” of reestablishing boundaries causes you some consternation…well you can suck it too.

I’ve got a life to save.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Maybe a black eye?

Posted on July 13, 2022 by Daniel Meyer

O-stupid-30. What my wife refers to as “Oh HELL no o’clock”. Doing the thing…between sets I found myself scowling into the mirrored wall at the gym…idly reading a few signs here and there…basically trying NOT to think about all the things that haven’t been going my way lately…

…and that damn shoulder…it just won’t…*can’t* do what I’m asking it to do. It’s been a long road back…and I’m not anywhere near “there” yet.

Yep. An absolutely, irredeemably fowl mood. Usually a workout helps wipe that out. So far it wasn’t helping. It was going to take a LOT today.

And then the spunky lithe hardbody chickita comes wandering up behind me…the one in the not quite opaque tights that clearly highlight the red thong and sports bra underneath. The one that *despite* me trying not be a creep and look her way every time she moves…had me looking pretty much every time she moved. Sheer will will only overcome so much hard-wiring.

She grins at me and meets my eyes in the mirror and quips, “They put *that* sign up just for me!” She grabs her ample chest and shakes it a bit with mind-boggling results despite the sports bra. “I think they figured I’d hurt myself.”

I laughed out loud. So hard I almost sneezed! It felt good. Fowl mood gone in an instant.

“Well that’s a shame!” I managed to get out. She winked and I nodded and we both went back to doing our respective thing. Folks that workout at that hour are generally serious about it and this was no exception.

Oh, the sign?
“Members will kindly keep their shirts ON in the main gym.”

Made my day. Hope yours is going well too.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Lessons…and Names

Posted on February 1, 2022 by Daniel Meyer

Y’all that have followed me a while may recall I “name” the vehicles I own or use regularly.

Actually that’s not entirely accurate. Yes, they have names. Yes, I refer to them as such. However *I* don’t name them…they name themselves at some point in our relationship and tell me what that is.

I learned a few things deep in the east Texas night.

1) Despite it’s “citified” appearance and decidedly comfortable suspension, the little red Nissan truck is tougher than it looks and very competent at what it does.
2) It’s name is “Airborne”.
3) When I tie sh!t down…it STAYS tied down.

So yeah. Running into the night with a load of junk destined for the Old Vic. In the brutal analysis, the junk, put on the open market, probably isn’t worth the fuel to haul it. Another sobering thought is that most of it…we probably don’t really even need.

But the bottom line is it’s OUR junk, and it would cost to replace it, if not in $$, at least in effort and inconvenience.

All was well…other than I’ve left my woman in another city and am looking at the prospect of sleeping this night alone…but that’s a different kind of ride.

This ride…smooth run, dry roads, 75mph into the black…when a high speed oncoming 18 wheeler…the first vehicle I’ve seen in 10 miles, suddenly takes my lane…clear to the shoulder. One of “those” moments. One…and only one chance. One movement. Zero time for thought. Zero margin for error or indecision. Experience, good reaction time, and a little luck is all that saved me from a head on. If I had even glanced at the gauges in the previous second or two…

Sobering thought.

But for some reason, this night, it all lined up. I yanked the wheel and took the ditch. HIS ditch. The path to mine was blocked by a massive high-speed chunk of rubber and steel.

Yeah…the “yank”…one of those that once done you KNOW…100%…that you’re gonna lose control of the truck.

It was also one that because of the proximity…and the semi trailer (a gravel hauler if it matters), I was DAMN sure there was going to be contact anyway. I have a “flash pic” in my brain of the rear wheel set of the cab and just knew I was gonna bounce the back end of my truck off it. Didn’t matter. ANY outcome…smack the rear wheels, roll it, nose down in the ditch…doesn’t matter…ANY outcome is better than a 140+ mph delta between a 4000 pound compact truck and an 80,000 pound rock-hauler.

But ya never quit driving, and those were thoughts articulated later. Along with some swear words in at least two different languages.

I never really did lose control…the little truck screamed and did exactly what I told it to…and headed for the ditch HARD.

Cleared the truck somehow and hit the ditch. Fortunately a respectably wide one…though fairly deep. Managed some sort of drift going in and partly up the other side so I didn’t flip it, and rapidly straightened up so I didn’t sail out the other side and didn’t plow into the tree-line. Trees are only a slightly better things to hit than 18-wheelers. I prefer neither, frankly.

Truck’s bouncing. Anti-locks are humming. I’ve managed to get the first few letters of the “F” word out of my mouth…and then there’s the pipe. One of those concrete pipes that goes under a driveway or such…that you REALLY don’t want to hit end-on at any speed, especially the “ludicrous speed” (for a ditch anyway) I was still rocking.

So I aimed back for the road. Not enough response. So I gassed it. That’s an old motorcyclist’s method. When there’s no hope left, apply more power. Can’t make it worse, might make it better, will at LEAST…remove the suspense.

The rear end swung downhill, the front end headed for the road. We exited the ditch right on the driveway embankment, missing the pipe, and went airborne. I have no real idea how much…couldn’t be too much or I’d have broken the truck in half…but it felt like I should be singing, “Just the good ole boys, never meaning no harm…” but I suppose Dixie horns are all out of style and “butthurty” nowadays.

Landed back in the road and had a slide correction or two…and there ya have it.

A good ride at least. I pulled over to see if it was gonna be a great ride.

Okay, I pulled over to stamp around, swear a lot, puke in the ditch…and get the shakes to stop. If you haven’t ever suffered the aftermath of a massive adrenaline rush…it can be momentarily crippling.

Oh, back to the ride thing…

A good ride is: “Nobody died.”
A great ride is: “AND I can use the vehicle again.”

Rock-hauler was long gone. That actually irritates me…as it indicates it wasn’t a blown tire or mechanical problem…but driver incompetence…or malevolence. Probably the former but ya never know these days.

My phone was gone…sailed out of the holder and landed somewhere in the cabin, so shortly I grabbed a mini-flashlight (gawd I LOVE LED’s) out of the glove box and did a walk around.

Zero damage to the truck. What do ya know…a GREAT ride! Load still intact. I don’t think a single strap moved. The inside of the truck was loaded too…but packed pretty tightly so mostly stayed in place. I found my phone under the rear passenger seat.

So, anyway. Hug ’em if ya got ’em. Pay attention if you’re on the road. Buy competent vehicles. Hope for a little bit of luck. Sing Waylon Jennings songs…

And have a GREAT ride.

Airborne is still smooth as silk BTW…but I think she’s due a trip to the alignment shop. Kind of treat, yanno? Maybe she’ll even get a wash-down.

I’ll see you on the road.

Meet “Airborne”, the competent little 4×4 Frontier.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Mine…

Posted on July 18, 2021 by Daniel Meyer

One of those mornings it hits me *hard*.

Something like 7 years ago I was a dead man walking…well north of 427 pounds. Every blood marker there is, kidney, lipids, liver, “off the charts” bad. Blood sugar had gone over 500. A1C was beyond accurate measurement. 8 ‘scrips. TWO injectables. Near $16 grand/year worth. No less than 8 Advils a day. Sometimes much, much more. A dozen? Sixteen? Yeah. Bad. I know. But the alternative was “non-functional.”

Asleep at the wheel…not somewhere I went deliberately, but I had arrived there nonetheless.

The morning I realized this…that I was dead but just hadn’t bothered to lay down yet…woke me up NOT because of the seriousness of my condition…but what I realized at that moment was that I really didn’t *care*.

It was also an impossible task. I was 50! Too much. Too far. Too old.

Far, far too late.

But the old me…buried deep down…the one that climbed out of poverty, the one that’s fought himself out of countless life and death situations piped up and said, “WTF?”

So I set to work on it anyway. And I beat it. Diabetes gone. Blood pressure, blood makers, heart/lung function…all ideal. Off all those drugs. I haven’t taken a pain reliver in months.

I’m NOT yet where I want to be. I still have fat to lose, and I want to pile on even more muscle. Vanity? Meh…not really.

Or perhaps.

But the muscle really is the fountain of youth, and the fat loss is the longevity. I’ve SEEN it. I’ve proved it.

Or at least, some days I believe that.

See, that Fat Man in the Mirror still beckons. I still hear him…and worse, see him every time I look. I still fuck up the diet. I still go backwards. I still have bad days. I still fail.

Today I was feeling it. The Fat Man in the Mirror was laughing at me. “Lie down.” he seems to say. “You’ll never make it.”

But I’m still here. I’m still working it. Month by month. Day by day. Hour by hour. I succeed just slightly more than I fail…and THAT…is what progress is.

I usually wear a heavy-cotton, loose fitting t-shirt for my daily activities. Habit and utility. Usually a size too large or more just to have room to move and bend. Also a left over habit from when a 6XL was too small. Big clothes and heavy fabric hide the bumps and unwanted curves. Light fabric and tapered shirts just show how fat I am.

Today, as I’m putting on a XL heavy cotton shirt getting ready for breakfast, the wife hands me a light cut/tapered shirt, size L.

“Here. Put this on.”
“Why?”
“Because you look damn good in it.”

*looks in the mirror*

“Huh. Well I’ll be dammed.”

My life is MINE…I took it back.

The Fat Man in the Mirror doesn’t get a vote.

Maybe one day I’ll even be able to tell him that.

I’ll see you on the road.

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Even They’ve Gotta Eat

Posted on July 12, 2021 by Daniel Meyer

A long and lonely night run. Feeling it. Wondering just why I do this to myself sometimes. Too little sleep. Too many miles away from the woman. Too many miles alone with my own thoughts. Sometimes just what’s needed. This time…a toxic combination.

The glimmerings of dawn coinciding with the need for a splash of fuel for the big cruiser…and some food for the soul piloting her. This sort of stop can be therapeutic…encountering other people on their own journey might convince me mine wasn’t so damn futile.

I find that all sorts…meet at these kind of crossroads. Sorts I’d normally never encounter. Occasionally some I’d never want to.

Small town diner. Odd hour. Open and serving, but the assortment of old pickup and work trucks usually filling the lot and heralding such a place haven’t arrived yet.

Damn. More lonely. Ah well. At least I’d have a side of coffee to go with it.

Coffee. Eggs. Cheese. Various hams, bacons, and sausages. Much of that arranged in a rather excellent omelet. Buttered grits and fruit served up without being asked for. Some perfectly crispy hash browns to top it all off. A coffee cup that never went empty.

Perfect.

Only one other patron…and he was a odd one. I’m a fair judge of people…and I go by far more than their dress. It’s manner and presence that really cue me in. And instinct. I couldn’t get much of a read on him.

Dude was a puzzle. He hadn’t looked up at the waitress the entire time I was there…or at me…nor spoken. He had, for lack of a better description, growled at her a few times. She apparently understood as she had brought him breakfast and kept his coffee full.

I could describe him no other way except as…unsettling. Perhaps with a dash of evil tossed in. Or maybe the other way around.

Only thing about him that I could read clear…was that under the proper circumstances he would be a very, very dangerous man.

Note that “dangerous” is not why I was “unsettled”. Some of the finest men I know are very, very dangerous given the proper circumstances. It’s part of what makes a man…a man. But I operate in a similar enough world to them that I understand the situations where these men would become dangerous. This guy? I didn’t move in his world at all.

I chuckled at a sudden thought…I’d mark him as a werewolf…just needing a full moon to break out in a frenzy of fur, violence, death, and destruction…were it not for the fact that I’m a supposed adult in a world all declare as mundane.

We don’t believe in such things. Or so I’ve been told. Supernatural isn’t real…well…except if it occurs in any of the roughly 4200 religions practiced around the world.

I shook my head and dismissed the thought. Or tried to.

A single glance from the man…piercing green eyes meeting my blue ones. Then he was back to ignoring me. I shivered. And believed.

“Unsettling.”

So much so that after I’d finished breakfast and was checking out at the front counter, I asked the waitress, “You gals gonna be okay?” while nodding in the dude’s direction. It was just her and another lady at the grill in the place…and they’d be alone with the growler when I departed.

She grinned at me confidently. “Him? Oh yeah, we’ll be fine.” She glanced his way, “I’m pretty sure he’s a full out demon, but he’s a regular and he tips well.”

I blinked. Not sure what answer I WAS expecting, but that was NOT it. Somehow I wasn’t all that surprised though.

“Uh. Okay? You’re sure?”

“It’s a *diner* hun. We see it all. Even demons’ gotta eat.”

She patted me on the hand and tilted her head at me. “Just like the wandering souls do. It’s what we’re here for.”

Demons and wandering souls.

…and they all gotta eat.

It’s what we’re here for…

I’ll see you on the road…or perhaps at the crossroads.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Listen…this is important…

Posted on June 26, 2021 by Daniel Meyer

Spawned by a conversation with a “demotivated” person that’s been following my fitness quest:

No, I am not a success…and no, you are not a failure.

This is NOT an “all or nothing” quest. I am not success or failure. Rather, I progress.

Success? Ha! I fail…regularly, repeatedly, and distressingly often. The Fat Man in the Mirror is often keen to point this out.

I am NOT a machine. I’m a bundle of instinct, emotions, passions, desires, wants, and needs…with a vastly imperfect cobbled together attempt at a logical matrix, educational core, and moral/ethical code kind-of sort-of imposed over the animal beneath. Mostly…the civilized, motivated, logical, analytic “skin” keeps the rest barely in check.

Maybe. You really think I jam these two-wheeled machines a thousand miles though the Texas heat or into the heart of a thunderstorm because I’m being particularly rational at that moment?

A toxic mix on some days…an ideal blend on others. Even the measure moves.

I fail in my eating goals. I fail in my exercise goals. I fail in my career goals. I fail in my personal development, hobbies, projects, and rest. I miss my target body-fat percentage goals. The sacrifices I made to my health early on were a failure. They still cost me successes today. It’s a long road back.

My “self-care” gets put on the back burner far too much. Life, family, work…all intrude where sometimes they have no right…it’s a failure for me to allow that. Perhaps. See, whether it has the right or not, the world
HAS to be dealt with anyway.

I fail at all of these things…but here’s the key…I succeed too.

There are things I want to achieve that may not be possible…I may fail in attempting…or it may be a failure to even consider trying. I’ll likely try anyway. I’ve no doubt I’ll fail. But I’ll succeed too. It’s the balance that matters.

Fail. Succeed. These are not “all or nothing” for life.

I was, no lie, right before writing this, sitting here jamming to some VERY good music and trying to figure out how my plans for the week and weekend went SO far awry and dejectedly wondering WHAT…if anything…of my goals for the week I could salvage…and if it was worth the bother to even try.

We all have our moments…our successes…and many, many failures. I am no exception.

I only progress because I succeed, on average, more than I fail. I can’t let it get to me that I’m not 100% successful. Nobody is. I’ll aim for it but I can’t achieve it.

What I CAN do…is work at moving the line…set out, every time, with the goal of progressing…and understanding that means succeeding just slightly more than I fail.

I am NOT where I want to be. But I am moving the line.

Do what you can with what you’ve got. Move the line. Success is taking the steps. Failure is just a stumble. Neither are definitive. PROGRESS is the goal.

Celebrate the successes. Learn from the failures. Get back up and do it again.

Move the line. You’ll be amazed where that takes you.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Posted in Weight Management | Leave a comment

She followed me home…

Posted on March 20, 2021 by Daniel Meyer

Me -leering-: “Hey Honey, she followed me home. Can I keep her?
“Her -rolls eyes-: “Well, you’ll have to take care of her and feed her and exercise her and play with her and pet her and take her out a lot and….
“Me: -zoom zoooooooom!!!- 

Yeah, she’s a keeper. So is She.

(2015 1800CC Fuel injected Valkyrie)

Much zoom zoomage will commence. There’s now THREE Valks hanging out at the Meyer Casa…

Posted in Road Stories | Leave a comment