I've found over the years -- perhaps fitness research would bear me out -- that when despondency is present, when "Old Man Blues" pays his sometimes daily visit, it's best not to take it lying down, certainly, but to be up and at 'em! I sometimes forget that, then there I am moping around the house, lying in my bed looking up at the ceiling, or dulling the pain with an extra helping of apricots.
Then suddenly it hits me, it's time to get up and get with it! Why let life keep passing me by? There's no percentage in giving up. To postpone misery's passing is to submit to the theft of what quality time I may have remaining, or something like that. Anyway, as my cousin always wisely said, "Anything that doesn't kill me makes me stronger." He could turn a great phrase, and this is one I remember.
So here's the way I handled the post-terrorist threat blues:
First, there was a box in the yard -- must've been blowing through. I took a club and beat the crap out of it.
Second, I got Grandpa's old exercise bike out of the garage, squirted a little oil in some of the bits there and got it loosened up to the point that it could squeak along. Not smooth at all, but I'm thinking as I'm working it, "Anything that doesn't kill me..." This thing might, though. I rode it a mile, which, with the severely constrained mechanism there, giving out, freezing up, then freer for a few seconds -- all quite unpredictable -- is equivalent to about 20 miles.
After that I thought about crashing. Rest by the old maple tree. But that's just life passing me by again. So I was up and at it, running around the half acre, through the weeds, tripping over the clods that have been rooted up by moles or gophers or whatever, and around. Over and over. By now I've got my shirt off, tucked in my back pants pocket. I'm rolling my arms through the air -- you know, like they do. "Anything that doesn't kill me" is going through my mind, but, hey, I'm pretty much out of shape.
Now what? I've worked off a lot of the stress. It's time to live!