Date: 2005-02-10
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Miles today: 0.0

7:30pm 2.10.05Tick tock, tick tock. Time¢s a-tickin¢ away. The days seems to pass inexorably slowly with startling rapidity. Well, the days go by quickly enough, it¢s ¢time¢ in general that seems at a standstill -- it¢s still only mid-February. It¢s been February for, like, 10 days already. Shouldn¢t it be March yet? Actually, this week has sped by remarkably swiftly, perhaps due to the fact that I¢ve been occupied by an on-again off-again relationship w/ a long-time acquaintance -- the stomach flu. Me and the flu, we go waaay back. I recall fondly those annual family Christmas vacations, driving out to Iowa, in which the flu would invariably come to visit me, personally. Ah, to be so loved. And in the past several years, our relationship has developed to the point where my viral friend calls on me at least twice every year, tarrying a goodly while each time. So, this past week I¢ve been recovering from Round 2 of my annual dalliance w/ the flu. Two half days of work, one full sick day. But today, I actually managed to put in a full 8-hour day at work! Yippee! And, having done so, I am now thoroughly exhausted and unable to raise my arms over my head. Not that I typically go about, raising my arms over my head, just for the heck of it. But, at this point, even if I was suddenly overcome w/ some inexplicable, unquenchable desire to raise my arms over my head, I would, sadly, be unable to do so. Why so this inability to raise my arms over my head? Today, at work, we installed a steel beam. An incredibly heavy steel beam. This beam is replacing, structurally, a wall we demolished in order to expand the kitchen that we¢re currently remodeling. As I relate this tale, keep in mind my nutritionally-deprived, flu-battled, weakened state. And the incredible mass of the steel beam.I knew that this was coming today, and I¢d tried to sort of mentally prepare myself as I drove to work this morning. You know, mind over matter, and all that. Well, that beam was a whole lot of matter for my mind to get over, my fuzzy, flu-addled mind. But, in the spirit of maintaining a positive attitude, I try to make my stride jaunty and my face peppy as I go into Steve¢s house. His response was more favorable than yesterday, where the first thing he said to me was -- Gawd, you look awful. (Remember, flu-stricken, stomach-violently-rejecting food, pale, wan state. Yeah, that was me.) Today, it was -- Is it 8 o¢clock already? as he polishes off his bowl of cereal. And then, the transformation so apparent it was visible, he shifted in to work-mode, standing up, w/ a spry -- So, ya ready to put that beam in?We head over to the project house (conveniently (for Steve) located just two houses down. And this is a long commute for him. Our previous project was the house next door¢¦). Once everything¢s cleared away and prepped for the installation, we¢re all set to bring in the beam. We go outside, and I mentally record every step we take through the muddy, marshy, swampy yard -- 10 feet, 20 feet, ooh there¢s a doggy-doo land mine to avoid, 60 feet, 70 feet¢¦ We reach the steel beam, silently laying along the street. Its sullen, stolid, obdurate presence inexplicably irks me. I half-heartedly nudge it w/ my foot. (I¢ve learned, from prior experience, not to kick heavy, solid metal masses.) It doesn¢t budge. I nudge it a little more firmly. Still no response. I resolutely set my foot against the top edge of the beam and lean my full weight into the effort. It shudders slightly, rocking almost imperceptibly before settling back into the rut it has crafted into the grass.Me -- It¢s bloody heavy.Steve -- What¢s 16 times 11?Me, slightly confused as to the query but always up for a little fun w/ math -- Uhh¢¦ (I perform a lightning-quick mental calculation, while muttering under my breath) -- 16 times 11? That¢d be 16 times 10 plus 16¢¦ 160 plus 16¢¦ 176!Steve -- So, it¢s only 180 pounds. Split two ways, that¢s only 90. C¢mon, you can handle 90 pounds.Well, yes. I was toting around those 60# bags of mortar like the Jolly Green Giant only a few weeks ago, lifting them from the ground to my shoulder in one smooth, fluid motion. But, that was when I had enough energy to keep myself upright for more than 2 consecutive hours. Today, not so much feeling the high-octane energy thing. Plus, as ungainly as concrete mix is, it¢s not some unwieldy, unmalleable 11-foot long metal rod that has to be toted 150 feet. But, gamely, I reply -- Sure. No problem. What are we waiting for?We bend over (assuming, of course, the proper, OSHA-approved stances -- knees bent, back straight), grab the beam, and hoist it off the ground. Struggling to incorporate this burden into my equilibrium (already sadly impaired by the headcold and recent bout w/ the flu), Steve chooses to ask me at this point if I¢d rather carry it at our waist or on our shoulders. Mentally visualizing the contortions my body would have to undergo in order to hoist the beam from its current height up to shoulder-level, and wincing at the implicit discomfort of such an undertaking, I nonchalantly reply -- Oh, no, I¢m¢¦I¢m good as it is.So, we trudge back through the muddy, marshy, swampy yard, leaving slightly deeper impressions of our passage (and thankfully avoiding the doggy deposits). This giant, 11-foot long inflexible chain links us, forcing us to take steps in unison, much like the 3-legged races of state fairs; one person moves when the other doesn¢t, and that just throws the whole ensemble out of whack. As we take the first steps, Steve cautions me -- If you¢re going to drop it, just warn me so that I can let go as well. Hmpf. Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss-man. We somehow manage to stumble our way up the steps onto the deck, at which point I nobly offer to take a short breather. (Steve was looking a little peaked.) Strength restored (hah!), we shuffle our way into the kitchen, thread the beam through the temporary walls we¢d constructed, to finally rest it on the portable forklift. (And, moving that behemoth, which weighs at least as much as the beam itself, was a trial in its own right.) Hallelujah, I think, the worst is over. Ahh, what fools these mortals be. The worst is never over. Getting it onto the lift was only the beginning. The next 4 hours were spent cranking up the lift (by hand, naturally), climbing onto a ladder, hoisting the beam up onto its supports, climbing off the ladder, cranking the lift a little more, climbing back onto the ladder, hoisting the beam again, watching Steve take measurements and fiddle around w/ the position and placement, climbing off the ladder, lowering the lift ¢Just a hair¢¦oh, no¢¦too much¢¦go back up¢¦oh, just a tad lower¢¦¢. Repeat ad nauseum. And, if I thought merely carrying the beam was fun, well, then, lifting it arms-extended-over-head while precariously balanced on a ladder was a real barrel of laughs. But, the bloody thing (eventually) was put in its place, where it will stay, for all eternity. Or, until some other poor unsuspecting sod gets to remove it. But, b/c I¢m determined to maintain a cheery attitude toward this whole experience, I¢m viewing today as good conditioning for the Trail. Build up my triceps and lumbar muscles. And, oh yeah, give me just a leetle reminder about how friggin¢ sore and tired and plain old exhausted I¢m gonna be, real soon. But not soon enough¢¦