It was a pretty typical Tuesday in mid-June, if a somewhat exhausting one.
Up before 5am, get dressed for the gym, have some coffee and do my New York Times puzzles, then head out for a lower-body workout with trainer Kirk.
Lift, grunt, suffer a little. Legs feel like jelly, but I get through it.
Head home. Shower and dress as quickly as I can, then hop in the car for the 15-minute ride to the office. Resting on the passenger seat (and the floor) next to me are my laptop, my lunch, my PA announcing bag, and a separate bag with a change of clothes.
Get to the office, go right into meetings. Rip through my to-do list as best I can over 9 hours.
At the end of the day, I head to the men's room, lock myself in a stall and change into more casual clothes in preparation for announcing that night's Lake County Captains baseball game.
I get to Classic Auto Group Park two hours early to prep. Go through lineups, pronunciation guides and game scripts. Put my pregame and in-game reads in order in the thick three-ring binder handed to me by Jason, the Captains' game operations manager. He's good at what he does and very funny, but he also runs a tight ship. We all want our game production to go as well as it can.
As game time approaches, I exhort the fans in the stands to get loud as I read the Captains' starting lineup with all the energy I can muster.
The game itself goes pretty well. I don't miss a cue, and there's good chemistry between me and Liv, the talented on-field host.
After the last out, I pack up my stuff and head back to the car. I get home a little after 10pm. I brought my dinner to the ballpark and already ate, so I jump right into the shower.
Once I'm out, I move to the kitchen to pack my lunch for the next day. Then I shave, brush my teeth and climb into bed. I've been texting Terry throughout the day, but we chat for a few minutes and catch up on our lives.
By 11pm we turn out the lights. I plan to walk my normal 2.3-mile loop first thing in the morning, so I won't get more than 6 or 6 1/2 hours of sleep. That really isn't enough, but it's something I accept. I'll catch up tomorrow evening.
This can all be a little tough on my 55-year-old body, but here's the thing: I choose to do it. I control my schedule, and I love it all.
It is maybe the ultimate freedom to be able to determine how your days are spent. I have a job I really enjoy. I have the ability to exercise and take care of my body four mornings a week. And I have a supportive spouse who allows me to pursue my PA announcing passion on many an evening (more than 100 events a year).
There are ups and downs, of course. Some days feel better than others. My mood fluctuates like anyone else's, often because I fail to be grateful for everything I have.
Still, it's all perfect. Or maybe "perfectly flawed" is a better way of saying it, because problems and issues still come thick and heavy. But they're only so bad.
After a day like this, I worry whether I'll have the energy to pop out of bed the next morning and do it again.
One way or another, though, I always do.
I couldn't begin to ask for more.
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