PUSHING FOR SELF-RESPECT: I want to write about push-ups.

I was listening to Mike & Mike (ESPN Radio) the other day, and the guy filling in for Greenie (one of the Mikes) was talking about how he knows he's over the hill now because he can only do eight push-ups. Next thing you know giant former NFLer Mike Golic is swearing he can do more, and he gets down on the ground in the studio and proceeds to pump out...nine. And he's winded. He's maxed out.

I've long been a fan of push-ups and sit-ups and pull-ups as barometers of strength and fitness, not to mention the most portable exercises a travelin' guy can have. Throw in a bit of jogging and you're pretty far down the path to fitness in my book. In other words, there's no excuse for my last-couple-years bout of non-fitness, right?

So I've been thinking of...and you've heard this before...setting the bar kind of low for myself to get back in the game. And listening to the push-up challenge made me think, man, I should just start doing the basics, at least.

Last night when I got home I pumped out 50 quality push-ups. (A few years ago I could do in the neighborhood of 120 without stopping.) Not bad. Not bad. Tonight I'm going to do 50 Navy Seal-calibre sit-ups (you kind of get in a seated "I Dream of Jeannie" pose, nobody holding your ankles, and come up clean). And so on. I figure I should be able to work up to 100 of each, push-ups and sit-ups, on alternate nights.

This whole fitness thing has been bubbling up of late. Coupla days ago my uberfit neighbor and me had a pull-up showdown in the park across from our houses. He did six or seven. (And this guy is training for a marathon, has done a couple 20-mile runs in the past month, not to mention a triathlon and some other road races. Make no mistake, he's in better shape than me.) Anyway, your favorite blogger managed to grit out 10 of 'em. Not impressive, but not embarrassing. I'm nothing if not competitive.

I think this whole focus on fitness and strength comes on the heels of a recent ass-whooping I took, also in the park. Friend of ours, a neighbor, great guy...used to play middle linebacker in the NFL for like eight years. Retired now, and only 33. Humble guy. Cool. Like him. Thing is, as I've told my wife, he's just not *that* big. I mean, me and the guy are standin' by each other, I'm not thinking he's an order of magnitude bigger than me. (Let's not kid ourselves, people, he is.) Anyway, I'm tellin' this crap to my wife, making myself seem all big and tough, and my wife spills it to him, the NFL guy. Great. Next time I'm over at the park he comes walking quickly toward me with mischief in his eyes. A gaggle of our local desperate housewives, including my wife, are looking on.

"So you don't think I'm big enough to play in the NFL," he says. "Do I look big enough now?"

He lunges at me, arms outstretched, and the guy has the malicious wingspan of some kind of bionic albatross. He seems about a foot taller than me, at least, and he bats me back and forth between his arms like a kitten playing with a very inconsequential ball of yarn. A piece of yarn, even. He grasps me by the shoulders, the arm, then lets go. Bat. Grab. Repeat. I get that seasick, out-of-control feeling. He's laughing. And truth be told, he's being very nice about it. He's not *really* being a tough guy, just sort of pretending to be. Nonetheless, it's abundantly clear he's operating at a different level than yours truly, six years older than him, several inches shorter than him, many gallons of muscle less than him, and much less like a former NFL linebacker than him. So good for him. He *is* that big.

But I bet that stiff can't knock out 50 push-ups right now! And definitely not the 100 that I'm working my way up to. I'll be back.