Monday, August 26, 2013

Day 87: Don't Stop Till It Feels Good

Today was ridiculously busy, I went from thing to thing to thing, and also had a longish boringish editing job that put me right to sleep, and the last thing I wanted to do was exercise, but I knew that I should. My plan was to take an after-dinner walk. I ate fairly lightly, a burger patty and green salad and fruit and summer squash with scallions, which I figured would be nicely digested by 7.

But here's the thing: The nights are already getting shorter. I looked out the window at 7, and dusk was already waning. I live in a safe neighborhood, but the elderly sidewalks can be cracked and bumpy; I need to see where I'm walking.

And oh, can I just tell you how desperately I wanted to throw in the towel at that point and call it a day??? as I dosed over my keyboard??? after five hours of editing 41 pages on information-sharing???

But . . .

I didn't! 

I threw on my exercise togs, pinned up my hair, grabbed a glass of ice water and my iPod, and headed to the basement to my dreaded treadmill. And I cranked up the music and proceeded to pound out a sweaty boring mile, reasoning that I can get through anything if I just stick it out and keep on keepin' on, one foot in front of the other.

Ten minutes, half a mile, walk walk walk, drudgery drudgery drudgery.

And then, at minute 10.1, a small miracle happened: I began to sweat like a pig and I began enjoying myself. The song that came up (do NOT give me a hard time about this!) was almost my guiltiest of guilty pleasures — "A Heart Beat Is a Love Beat" by the Di Francos — and it was so totally fun to "rock out" to this iconic hit of my youth, with great long strides and dramatic hand gestures!

(Li'l Martini, sitting nearby at his computer, recoiled a bit. Ah, 'tweens. What a burden it is, having such a hot mama.)

The rest of the mile flew by (part of convincing myself to tackle the treadmill was my self-promise that I only had to do one mile). I ultimately did one-point-something miles and walked briskly for 25 minutes; then I lifted weights and did my shoulder PT and held Martini's feet while I did 20 throw-downs and then did 30 wall push-ups. I am sweating like crazy (it's not that hot, but our dehumidifier makes the basement very warm — dry but warm) and I feel virtuous and successful.

Yay, me!!!

Time for a hot bath, some hot coffee brought to me by my hot hubby, and a few more chapters of my most excellent library book, The Next Time You See Me by Holly Goddard Jones — so good so far!

Sweet dreams, my peeps!

— Lady C

p.s. Twenty throw-downs, ouch. My Jello-like abs are whimpering. I really really really need to pay more attention to my core — which would probably help with my waist size too. I haven't lost any more from my waist than the original inch (though I measure every week with great enthusiasm!).


  1. I think getting on the treadmill is 1000% harder than actually using it. I never want to go down there. Waaaaaaa.

    I know. Pity me thoroughly.

    1. Man, you are on to something. We need a magical treadmill transport device! That truly is half the battle. More than half. Is there any way we could fool ourselves into believing that we're actually putting our workout clothes on and heading down to treadmill land to lounge and drink cocktails?