As the history of great men is littered with inveterate nappers – Albert Einstein, Napoleon Bonaparte, Thomas Edison, Winston Churchill – it pains me to admit that I nap rather poorly. It isn’t that I can’t fall asleep in the middle of the day, but rather that I can’t wake back up.

Of course, at some point, I do awake; but, invariably, it’s feeling far more tired than when I dozed off. My rare naps, then, are usually driven by extreme situations – after a particularly long night on the town, or following a work-driven all-nighter. Then, groggy and cotton-mouthed as a half-hour stretch of zzz’s may leave me, I’m at least no worse off than I would otherwise have been.

There is, however, one other sort of nap I do take more regularly, albeit unintentionally: it is the post-workout pass-out. On occasion, while hitting the gym, I manage to push myself well past my rational limits. Returning home, I lie down for a minute while untying my sneakers, then open my eyes to discover an hour and a half has suddenly disappeared. This happened to me yesterday, and, as my eyes opened, I felt a bit like a computer must (if, indeed, computers feel) upon crashing and rebooting. Unlike my other naps – ones where I put myself to bed and eventually wake myself back up – these post-workout pass-outs catch me suddenly, then dump me back into the world, essentially the same, though with the exercise-induced cobwebs cleaned from my body and brain.

And it is through those gym-driven nods that I can, at least to some degree, understand and envy the great nappers. Surely, I would more than make up for twenty minutes lost to sleep if I emerged from each at a fresh mid-day beginning. Which leads some horrible part of my subconscious to secretly wish for a late onset of narcolepsy. If it is the sudden start – that capture by sleep, thoroughly unawares – that differentiates my gym-driven napping from my other less successful attempts, then perhaps as a narcoleptic, I might be able to nap like a pro.

Sure, unexpected fits of sleep might complicate driving, or lead to some awkward dating moments. But nobody said that achieving greatness would come easy. It clearly takes hard work. Apparently the sort of hard work you can sleep through.