This week, I made a possibly reckless decision.  I hope I won’t live to regret it.

It came about because grandson Bryce is embarking on another of his 75 day health programs. If the “victim” of such an endurance challenge is really deranged enough to enlist in it, they can expect to make no excuses for dereliction of duty. As a reward for such spartan commitment, he does seem to end up slimmer, muscled, energized, kind of mentally re-charged, and he never seems to whimper about the persecution he is inflicting on himself. Myself, I’m a conscientious objector to such physical deprivation and fitness.

This is the second time Bryce went on the 75 Hard program this winter. His program rules consist of sticking to a diet, no cheat days, two exercise sessions daily, reading, etc. The first time, on day 73, I offered him some chocolate Christmas candy that had just arrived in the mail, and concentrating on whatever he was doing on his laptop, he absent-mindedly took a piece.  And ate it.

Oopsie! Not allowed!  No way! One such offense, kiddo, and you have to start over! From day one. So he did!!! He’s claiming to his guilt-ridden grandma that he was going to submit to another 75 days anyway, but I know a lie when I hear one.

Mea culpa! So what else could I do but share the suffering? (That’s the kind of a good sport I am, and don’t you forget it.)  It only seems fair that his sainted grandmother should suffer through the 75 days with him. 

Only problem was that I had no intention of facing a food regime that doesn’t contain frequent portions of sugar, butter, wine, bacon, fried food, sour cream, bleu cheese dressing, potato chips, ice cream, and Macadamia Nut Clusters; and I certainly don’t approve of engaging in other requirements of Bryce’s 75 day program. Such as the violent physical exercise of walking outdoors twice a day; or in pursuing intellectual reading for 45 minutes when I could be watching Squid Game.

But what kind of personal challenge could I commit to for 75 days?  There must be something that wouldn’t require a license, skill, danger, shivering, perspiration, hunger, standing on my feet, firearms, the need to get my hair done, getting arrested, or a permission slip from my mother.

As a last resort, I did what any red-blooded misfit would do in facing a 75 day challenge.  I sat down and made a list of mandatory ground rules. Here it is:

1. It must be an activity I can do sitting down.
2. It has to be indoors and at home.
3. It has to be engaged in in privacy.
4. It has to have measurable benefits.
5. It has to be legal, or at least unlikely to invoke any jail time, ruling out any more marijuana farming.
6. It has to be free of any expense.
7. It needs to be difficult – but within reason.
8. It mustn’t be too rigorous for a 90 year old physically inept female.

I pondered the list, considering possibilities from my vast array of experience such as:

1. Launching a re-upholstery project  to administer life support to our living room couches now living lives of shame and degradation.
   
2. Creating another free-form crocheted afghan like the one which won 3rd place at the Puyallup County Fair – a world class lifetime achievement award if there ever was one!
   
3. Engaging in inspirational navel gazing.  (I’d need to find a good online user manual to determine if  contemplating the navel works when it’s an “innie”.)
   
   
   
4. Trying to re-learn how to play the piano, especially challenging since we don’t have one.
   
5. Learning how to tap-dance using my new walker.

After two minutes of intense analysis of the ground rules, I made the decision. Ta Da! For the challenge, with or without a piano, I would attempt to re-learn to play the instrument by practicing a minimum of 1 hour per day for 75 days. On an “air piano” if necessary. Again, I cranked out a list as to feasibility and possible pitfalls of this undertaking:

1. The 14 years of piano practice I squandered in my youth might now support my effort to recover a little of my earlier facility at the now-alien keyboard.
   
2. Bryce helped me remedy my lack of access to a piano by borrowing an electronic keyboard, stand and bench. (Had to buy an inexpensive headphone, though, in order to spare the family the pain of listening to me practicing.)
   
3. I didn’t save any sheet music, but turns out, – just like with 86 recipes for ham bone-based celery and alfalfa root soup – you can get tons of it free on the internet, whether you really want it or not.
   
4. This is a photo of one of my gnarled arthritic hands which gives you a hint of what kind of virtuosity I can expect at the keyboard. The same crookedy hands have barely touched a keyboard for the past 60 years, but who’s worried? Even pickpockets must retain some of their fingering dexterity – it’s like riding a bicycle, right?

The challenge began 5 days ago. Only 70 days to go!
 
So far, the results have been demoralizing.  Aargh!  Whatever made me think I knew how to play the piano??? For the first five days I’m still fumbling with the first Hanon exercise, the C major scale, and the baby piece of Bach’s called Prelude in C.  A seven-year-old could make it sound more tuneful. And where is my intrepid piano-teacher-sister-in-law Peggy in my hour of dire need? 

So far, this challenge has been a humbling experience. If there was ever a time to invoke the dauntless, stubborn roots of my Bohemian grandmother, this better be it.

If I haven’t given up by next Sunday, I’ll keep you posted. I may have to abandon my solidarity with Bryce in his 75 day relentless pursuit, but he can’t say I didn’t TRY!

I’d tell you to “stay tuned”, but I’m not that heartless.