My passion for fitness is eluding me. I still work out...just not as often, not for as long and with almost no zest. This bothers me greatly. My list of excuses includes I don't have the time to spare, my school schedule cramps my exercise class schedule, I'm tired, gas is too expensive to get to the gym, it's too cold, it's too hot, I don't have any clean shorts and the cat ate my running shoes.
But none of these excuses give me that runner's high (my favorite from the workout euphoria collection), and, well, I'm not certain because I need a new battery for the bathroom scale, but I'm pretty sure I'm not dropping any pounds. So yesterday, a school-less, kid-less, nice-ish morning, I decided to slip on my shoes (okay, I'll admit, the cat didn't destroy them) and head out for a run. As always, the first 200 yards were great, followed by a mile of suffering (I can give you physiological reasons for this now) and then onto the rest of my run. But my body kept nagging at me, whispering, "You haven't done this in awhile. Take it easy. Please?!" Apparently Tina Turner was singing too loudly for me to hear that until I was nearly three miles from home.
So I turned around to make my way home. I was shocked to see that though the entire first half of my run was uphill, so was the return. Same road. A mystery of physics if ever there were one. I walked more than I liked, but when I finally found Casa del Mar, I was glad to have hit the road again.
But my feet weren't.
My Adidas have logged more than a few months and miles since they first rescued me from my last pair of broken down running shoes. And they are going to have to deal with my abuse awhile longer (as will my feet)...unless of course, the shoe fairy comes in the night. And it would be great if she brought along the utility bill fairy, the food fairy, and my all time favorite, the cleaning fairy.
I wonder what I should put under my pillow...