WHAT?

I quit """teaching""" indoor cycling last year. I was tired, hurt, burnt-out and personally devastated by the volume of “”””students””” deciding (gasp) to do other things at 0530 on dark and cold Seattle mornings. I still wanted to keep the metabolic buzz flowing and do something to substitute for the six or seven hundred calories that were toasted in these efforts, as well as the c-note note of weekly compensation, so I synergied a couple of my favorites into one activity hoping to find, well, a more balanced curriculum. 

I ended up with a crazy scheme that I thought might be scaleable, ecologically opportunistic and satisfy the physical element. I hatched a lawn mowing biz with the caveat that all work was done by hand, the old fashioned, old school method using a reel mower. In extreme landscaping circumstances I would rely on a battery powered weed-wacker. Under no circumstances would I fire up a fossil fueled engine be it a Briggs and Stratton, John Deere, or Dodge Hemi. 

After a couple of days of research I ended up with the Fiskars as my go-to mow. Summarizing this experiences in a sentence, after ten plus years of getting up early, it took a while to restructure my days, and the chore of pushing, albeit with the Fiskars patented power inducing inertia-drive, proved to be a monumental challenge for the regularity of my heart rate. The atria didn’t especially like the change and protested often, with great effect. I am now down to two regular customers, small jobs that take about an hour each and have returned to the club for reasons that, for administrative accountability principles, should be filed in the ‘things I miss’ cabinet. Just go ahead a cram the file in there with the others. 

Truth be known, always a goal here, I am very sensitive to sound. Stop whatever you are doing right now and listen to what is happening right outside your door. If you hear what I hear, and it is spring not winter, you are likely to hear a cacophony of gas-fired two-cycle engines, mowers, edgers, blowers, trimmers, generators all with the discordant accompaniment of cars, motos, scooters, busses and light aircraft. FUCK, it’s enough to drive a deaf man insane. Is it any wonder the in-flight commands of Canadian squadron leader Honkers are louder, and more imperative, than ever? 

Yesterday, after a rousing morning session at the club, I went into A-Fib during the second set of the evening’s PowerBarn session. This one was different in as much as it was immediate. I felt the typical light head, power reduction and chest pressure, but this time it felt somehow more complete. I reached for carotid and felt something like a country-jazz fusion, 3/4 time with a pause and punch emphasis on the return downbeat. What we used to call a stutter and slam, a technique illustrated nicely in The Other One by the Dead. 

After the session, moto ride home, a grilled cheese sandwich fabricated by my wonderful neighbor and landlady, a Greek salad crafted by another wonderful neighbor, two beers and a perusal of the nightly news  (I am growing into a huge Ari Melber fan), I weakly headed upstairs to work through the fibrillation and its irritating symptoms. Rest, sleep, meditation and as deep a relaxation level as I can muster, a technique that normally works but left me with back-to-back sleepless nights this go-round. 

I woke early, as sister in DC texted a request for a book report on a Tom Robbins novel, so half asleep and sans pajamas I weakly made the return trip downstairs and into the day. Out of A-Fib.

With the morning being my oyster I sit down to write, topics swirling like a Tennessee twister. I decide to reconstruct yesterdays saga, as outlined above, because after all, my atrial fibrillation and indoor cycling were long ago (119 days) nominated to be the focal points of this semi-literary farce (used for therapeutic and a record of progress purposes only), pour a fresh cup of yesterday’s coffee and open the french doors that lead to the deck, with grassy yard and beach beyond. 

Seems landlady has hired two guys with dueling John Deere’s to mow, blow and go.