exorcise me please
September 19, 2007
Sunday night, much like every Sunday night for the past month or so, Tom and I made a pact to get back to the gym. We’ve been a couple of lazy, slovenly blobs for quite some time now. We are very much aware that working out not only helps keep one’s middle aged body from completely heading south, but also works as natures own prozac. So if you’re stressed out and getting a little soft in the middle, it’s not a bad idea to excercise as many times as possible during the week.
Perhaps my whining about what a time suck it is, has something to do with the sharp decline of gym visits. So we both came up with the bright idea that I would get up at the crack of dawn and get my work out over with before the commute to our respective offices. The thinking is, I’ll have the evening to myself and feel less resentful about my lack of time. I realize I will be alone in this endeavor as Tom wishes me good luck with all of that.
Monday morning at 5:30 my alarm rudely blares in my ear. I fumble around groggily for the snooze alarm, eventually connect and ahhhhh, a few minutes more of blissful sleep. Soon I’ll get up, jump into my sweats and head out. 5:45 arrives with bbbbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Another swat at the snooze button and it’s just a few minutes more of heavenly rest before getting serious. 6:00 Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….I think you know where this is going.
7:30 I’m finally up and now I’m late! I wonder if rushing around getting ready for work counts as cardio?
Unfortunately, Tuesday morning went about the same way. I’m thinking Wednesday doesn’t look good either. Soooooo, time for a new pact. Tonight we decide…yes, next Monday for sure. We’re hitting the gym come hell or high water.
No, no, I never do get tired of kidding myself. Why do you ask?