After my complete and total failure last week to perform 100 consecutive push ups, I was forced to confront my demons. Having fallen just 10 short of the desired outcome, I had to look within and ask why. Why did I choose to fail? Anyone can do 10 push ups. Why did I opt to not do those mere 10 to achieve 100? What kind of self-loathing had held me back? Who am I? What is the meaning of life?
OK, OK, it wan’t quite so existential a crisis. But, damn, I was close. Maybe I could do it.
About 20 minutes after I finished my last blog post, lamenting the 90, I felt an actual surge of energy. “What the hell,” I thought, “go for it!” So I got down and push-upped some more. This time, peaking out at 60. I decided right then to try for the 100 again after taking a day’s rest.
So, now two days later, I attempted to crank out 100 push ups once again. This time, committed to challenge and overcome the voices that say “stop” when the goal is in sight. And this time I managed… 88.
Look, I know that I’m not going to receive much sympathy for my plight. After all, I realize that this is in the 1/40th of a percent of first world problems. But it is a goal, even if it’s arbitrary and based on a decimal system Weltanschauung. I did decide that the failure was not mental, because this time I was really telling myself to push. And there was no power left to get one more, let alone the needed 12.
The push up program advises failures who seek more punishment to go back two weeks, and redo weeks 5 and 6 before attempting the 100 again. So that’s exactly what I’m doing. Yesterday was Week 5, Day 1, Column 3 Redux. My results were better than the first time I did that round. Progress.