But I’m Tide. T.I.D.E. Tide: How Fatigue Can Not Only Kick Your Ass…but Steal Your Dreams

plugI have so much to do.

My to do list looks like a spoiled 10 year old’s Christmas list. 



I need a double shot Espresso Frappuccino pronto.

I need a four pack of Red Bull like now!

Where’s the friggin phone book, I gotta make me an appointment with one of them damn cloning doctors.

Sound familiar?

I bet.

Now before we head down this all-too-familiar road I’d like to make what I consider a pair of reasonable assumptions.

1) As a whole we tend to have more on our proverbial plates these days then during any other time in recent history. (Or so it certainly seems)

And 2) Some people are simply far better equipped to handle it all than others. (Or so it would certainly appear)

My wife Cathy, in all her gung ho glory, is without question one of these people.

She is—a multi-tasking maestro.

However, it’s not so much her adroit ability to tackle umpteen things at once that amazes me.

It’s the exuberant energy with which she does it, and her uncanny capacity to refocus and/or redirect that energy in an instant.

It’s absolutely mind boggling to watch.

How’s she do it? I wish I knew.

But like I say there’s definitely a buzzing energy about her.

And I’m not talkin some caffeine crazed power surge. I’m talkin an even keeled rapid-fire rhythm that’s every bit as natural as a bowl of granola.

Me…well, I’m cut from a completely different cloth.

Unlike Cathy I just don’t have the firepower to run on all canisters the entire day.

After gettin up at four in the mornin and spendin the better part of the day behind the wheel of my biggie rig I normally start flirtin with fatigue somewhere around the three o’clock hour.

But it’s not so much physical exhaustion as it is psychological brain fade.

In either case it’s highly counterproductive.

Because its here, in the dragging hours immediately following my day gig, that I tend to make some of the worst decisions of the day.


Although for wildly different reasons it sorta reminds me of my high school days when I’d come home to an uninhabited house with reasonable intentions of doin something constructive and instead wound up slouched in front of the TV spoonin Spaghettio’s outta the can with a few of my closest unindustrious buddies whose idea of an uberproductive day was determining who’s hotter Ginger or Mary Ann.

These days, however, if I choose to ‘slouch’ off I’ve got no one but myself to blame.

These days not only have my comatose classmates long since gone on to bigger and better things (one can only hope) but I too have marginally matured over the past thirty-five years.

In other words, I’m old enough to @&*%^ know better.

So then why is it that I insist Cathy keep a can of Spagettio’s in the pantry at all times?

What is it about that ill-postured position atop the cushions that continues to remain so agonizingly inviting?

And damn it who the hell is that behind the William Shatner like voice that after all these years keeps muttering, “Relax, chill out, it’s been a long hard day and you deserve some R&R”?

Who is that?

And why is it so *$&^% difficult to shut him up?

I mean come on, seriously, I ain’t got time for this shit.

I’ve got things to do.

It was Vince Lombardi who emphatically told his players, “You’ve got to keep yourself in prime physical condition, because fatigue makes cowards of us all.”

Now initially coward may sound a bit harsh, but no more so really than weakling, wimp, quitter, or chicken-hearted invertebrate.

So be my guest, pick your poison, because the fact is no matter what what you call it when you’re tired, when you’re juice tank is runnin on fumes you’re gonna wind up getting fatigued way too soon and far too often.

Before you know it it’s become a daily struggle. One that just as quickly and easily can turn into a full-blown battle.

Or even worse—a losing cause.


This past Cinco De Mayo weekend four friends and I rode our dirt bikes 200 miles across the Mojave Desert, from Barstow California to Boulder City Nevada and into Lake Mead National Recreation Area.

Now while most of us had ridden sections of this mapped-out area before none of us had ever gone the entire distance from start to finish in one fell swoop.

The week prior to the ride I spent a considerable amount of time prepping my bike and readying my gear, making sure everything was snug and up to snuff.

Weeks before that I started getting myself geared up.

I got plenty of rest, drank lots of fluids (little or no beer), and put the pedals to the metal on the stationary bike.

Well, guess what? 

It paid off. Big time.

I felt good the entire ride, my body was hydrated my eyes were clear and my mind felt unflinchingly sharp and alert. All of which comes in handy when you’re pinned in fourth gear on a dusty single track that’s riddled with unforgiving sand wash crossings only an experienced camel jockey could appreciate.

Long story short, after a welcomed greeting from the girls and a deserving round of toasts beside the dimming shores of Lake Mead we showered up, tossed some carne asada on the grill and played a heated round of rock paper scissors for the last iced down MGD in the cooler before settling in to watch the Supercross Finals from nearby Las Vegas.

And it was then while watchin Villopoto and friends scale the jumps and hammer the whoops that Winston, clearly the worse for wear out of our five-man squad, announced “Man! Those dudes gotta be in some serious shape.”

As I chip-dipped into the homemade salsa I offhandedly thought to myself, “No shit Sherlock, what’s your point?”

My point is that no matter what your everyday hopes and dreams might be, chances are you’re gonna have to work long and hard to keep em alive.

And that’s gonna take energy.

Lots and lots of energy.

Because we’re not talkin some 200 mile joy ride that begins and ends within a matter of a few hours.

We’re not talkin a short stretch of hurdles that as a general rule can be tamed with a handful of throttle and a bit of body english.

We’re talkin a long distance open-ended journey that’s gonna put you face to face with the kind of obstacles that’ll make the ugliest rocky sections look as smooth as a buttered down baking sheet.

With that said know this: in spite of the amount of physical exercise you get; no matter how many miles you churn out on the stationary bike or on the treadmill, when it comes to raw rippin energy it’s gonna be tough to edge out my energy bunny better half.

Personally, I could pedal to China and back and never have the get-up-and-go that she’s got.

Nevertheless, imagine yourself coming home from a hard day’s work and having that little extra spring in your step.

That extra added boost of energy.

Imagine if you can all of the things you could achieve and accomplish. 

Not to mention the exorbitant amount of cash  you could save by ditchin the Spaghettio’s.

See ya on Oct 1st. Till then, keeep it up.

PS This month’s title comes courtesy of the late great blues artist Katie Webster via the Ivory Joe Hunter R&B classic Since I Met You Baby on BB Kings collaboration CD Blues Summit.



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *