Push-ups were once my go-to exercise, easily able to knock-off a hundred at a time. However, I haven’t tried to do one since my open-heart surgery seven months ago. Years ago, it would have gotten me through basic training if that had been part of my life. Give me 25, soldier! No problem, Sir, would have been my reply. “Can I do another?” It certainly got me through fraternity “Hell Week,” never hesitating to show off my strength. For the 15 consecutive years that I ran, I also did 100 push-ups every single morning.
I’ve been going to the gym for months now, working out with some light weights on my arms and shoulders. There’s no longer the cautious feeling that my rib cage will crack again after it had been sawed in half. I was concerned about putting too much weight on my chest since my bones and cartilage still seemed to crackle and pop a bit. Lately, I’ve felt whole again, bumping up the weight on my overhead lifts. Slowly but surely, I’ll get my upper body strength back.
This afternoon I finally decided to try a push-up. I was already on the floor using my forearms to stretch some back muscles. I friend of mine who’s a physical therapist suggested that I lay like that for a few minutes to help relieve my sciatica. While I was down there, I extended my arms into the familiar push-up position. Sadly, I was only able to do three, but maybe four tomorrow. It gives me a measure of how far I’ve regressed in that department. I’ll probably also be sore tomorrow, but it’s a beginning. I wonder if I’ll ever get back to doing a hundred every morning like elderly Mr. Kaufman of Englewood, Florida (about my age now) showed me in my teens. He inspired a lifetime of doing simple push-ups that suddenly aren’t so simple anymore.
Another day in the car but nearing the end. It started with what we expected was just an hour-and-a-half route into New Jersey. Instead, we failed to follow the directions and went more than an hour out of our way. We still had time for a hotdog and gas at WAWA before settling in the Flemington, New Jersey city known for the Lindbergh kidnapping. We enjoyed some snacks with our Florida neighbor friends in their summer home, and then promptly headed for the Unionville Winery to continue our afternoon grazing with a multi-bottle tasting. The evening was then spent over a salmon dinner and a game of Code Names. I was first to bed after once again nursing a painful leg all day and trying to negotiate more stairs.
After a restless night, I tried to get the blood flowing on their basement exercise bike. They served us a traditional Jersey breakfast treat of John Taylor ham on a sesame seed bagel. We opted out of adding ketchup like they suggested. They then drove us to nearby Asbury Park, where we all explored the boardwalk, pinball hall of fame, and a Bruce Springsteen museum. Nearby, was the famous Stone Pony where he and other local musicians like Southside Johnny still perform on occasion. It’s also the sight of unique artwork and a decorative glass dome where the beachside carousel was once housed.
We sat down for slice of Manuca’s spiral pizza, also known as a Trenton Tomato Pie, and wrapped up the evening with an authentic Jersey Italian Dinner, including a dish that they called “Sunday Leftovers” at Marinelli’s Restaurant. They are a couple that likes to play card games so we ended our Flemington stay with Five Crowns -I won! Winner, winner Italian dinner!
We finished off our leftover pizza in the car the next morning while passing through Delaware, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington D.C. on our way to Fayetteville, North Carolina. The short stint in Delaware took my wife’s total state count to 47 – only three to go – Nebraska and the Dakotas, as previously mentioned. Fortunately, nothing eventful happened in route before we stopped at Cracker Barrel and went to bed early in preparation for our last day of driving, the longest of our trip.
An eleven-hour driving day, that was supposed to be only ten, wrapped up our round-trip to Maine. The odometer read 25,112 as we departed the Fayetteville Spring Hill Suites. We passed quickly into South Carolina with only two last states to traverse, Florida and Georgia, soon seeing signs for an out-of-the-way Buc-ees. We planned to pick up the dogs, unload, and return the Rogue rental first thing in the morning. Oops – wrong turn and we end up at Buc-ees for the third time this trip, costing us an extra hour on the road. Maybe the cheaper gas and brisket sandwiches made up for the delays.
The final odometer reading was 25,830, just about 4,100 miles, the longest we’ve ever traveled together by car. It probably is comparable my roundtrip excursion from Indiana to California as a teenager. Once again, I thank my lucky stars for another hassle-free, safe journey where little went wrong and most everything was right. Winner, winner, Italian Dinner!
