Mrs. Mike

Now here’s a side of the story you won’t get from Mike. Because it’s from Mrs. Mike.
Like many wives, I have a long history of asking my husband, “What do you want for your birthday?” and for years the answer had always been the same -- “Oh, I don’t want anything special.” And that would result in him receiving a couple of shirts that I liked but honestly would not do anything to change his life. Last birthday, though, was a biggie. I don’t like to use the exact number, but if you’ve been reading this blog at all, you know what milestone I’m talking about.
This pivotal, though unmentionable, birthday was weighing on Mike, I could tell. The previous summer he’d gone digging for a pair of shorts to wear in the 100-degree heat and came up with a pair that didn’t zip. Now me, I’ve had two kids, and even before the two kids I’d been gaining and losing the same five pounds for years. Unzippable pants are nothing new. But Mike had never experienced that particular blend of shame, disbelief, anger and self-loathing. Mike was born skinny. He may not have always had the most honorable dietary habits, but he had ironclad work ethic in the gym. He’d go to the gym like a postal worker goes around delivering mail -- no rain, no storm, no gloom of night after a crappy day at work, nothing would stop him. Even when I got sick of going with him, even when I may have suggested his fitter-than-thou attitude was starting to get a little grating, nothing stopped him. What compelled him like this? I thought for a while it might be the sight of a bunch of sweating women splayed open as only they can be on a adductor/abductor machine. But I was wrong. I realize now that the main reason Mike worked out so hard for so long was because the workouts kept him connected to who he really is.
At heart he’s an athlete. He may have a long resume of jobs that keep a man’s ass in his seat, but at heart, he’s still an athlete.
(The other reason Mike has always worked out so much was because he likes to eat cheeseburgers and fries. He likes them a lot. More about that some other time.)
We have a mixed marriage. He is athletic. I am not. I got a lesson in the difference between these two fundamentally different types of people once while Mike was signing himself up for a city softball league. The guy from Parks & Rec was exhorting the players to remember to bring a photo ID to the first game. “Now I understand how it is,” the man said, much like a preacher talking about our common mortal failings. “These men want to play ball. They’re not thinking about a photo ID. These men are athletes. All they know is there’s a game, so where’s my shoes and where’s my car keys? All they know is there’s a game and they are athletes. Still and all, you need a photo ID.”
From my seat in the back, I burst out laughing. Much to my surprise, nobody else thought this was funny. Looking back, I realize I knew very little about athletes. They really are very different.
Now getting back to the birthday, I guess I was thinking it would be another two-, maybe three-shirt kind of year, but Mike had something else in mind.
This birthday’s tough on a lot of people, but Mike wasn’t going out without a fight. He wasn’t ready to give up on himself -- the youthful, athletic guy he’d always been. There may be a whole lot of candles on the cake from now on, but this birthday wasn’t going to be the start of any downhill slide. Instead, Mike said he wanted to start dunk-training, the dunk being a perfect symbol of youth and power and strength. That’s what he wanted for his birthday -- he wanted to learn to dunk -- and I wish I could tell you I heard all this and I totally got it. I didn’t. But I also knew I married an athlete, no nice shirt was going to do it for him this year.
Mike’s still chasing the dunk dream, but in the meantime I can tell you the body’s looking pretty amazing. Toned but not bulky. Tight, flat, six-pack stomach. Really nice arms. And for the first time, really nice legs. Oh, and those shorts that didn’t zip? They’re kinda loose these days.