I've managed to get up two mornings in a row to work out.
You have NO idea how important that sentence is. I've been falling apart the past few months. And it scares me. I'm a youthful 42. I am. I mentally think I'm in my 30's and I'm not actually a healthy weight. I'm the opposite of anorexia...I actually THINK I'm Thin! Or at least I consider myself "functionally fat". I can play sports, hike, run around with kids under 5 for a game of tag. But movie theater seats still leave marks on my hips.
I'm only reminded of how heavy I really am when I'm passing, say a big shop window. And in the reflection, I wonder why the fat gal behind me is walking so close to me. Then it dawns on me.....that's me.
Or our vacation pics for instance. There is one picture that looks like I'm that fat guy in the Guinness World Records book for being the biggest human alive. They had to bury him in a piano case as a coffin. And yes...the angle is bad and the sofa is low and I'm not sitting up straight, but honestly...I'm Cabba the Hut in that picture!
After a series of aches and pains: tennis (bowling) elbow, plantar facitis, the inability to get off the couch after sitting for too long...I realize I'm horribly out of shape and headed downhill fast. I won't have any muscle left to save myself if I don't do something soon.
So...I rise.
Head down to the basement to the "workout pen", where we have all the equipment I need to try and turn back the hands of time and halt the decay that seems to be happening to these old bones.
Tomorrow - day 3.
If I can do it for a week, it will be habit for me. And this habit is much better than some of the other ones I've picked up along the way.
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