THE PUSH

There are many excuses for me not to go to the gym.

 It's over 20 miles driving for me. But then again, it's over 20 miles to get to almost anyplace when you live this far out in the country.

It's funner to sit at the computer and write silly blogs like this on, pinterest things, and stalk people on Facebook - but sitting is only increasing the size of my fat butt.

The dogs miss me. Well, for about four seconds, and then they simply collapse into their happy comatose state and sleep until I get come back home.

I wish I could be spending the time with the horses. Although I know from experience that once it's over 80 degrees, neither the horses or I have patience with each other.

Okay, I've run out of excuses. I better get dressed and head for the gym.

MY KINGDOM FOR A TOWEL

I am just getting back into the habit of going to the gym.

Part of me ROARS every time I begin to put my workout stuff in a bag - "What?! There is so much HERE that needs to be done! Why are you wasting time going into town!!??"

And there is an insistent nagging voice that says that all I need to do is go outside and just go for a walk around the block here at home (which is just a little more than 2 miles for me).

However, the more persuasive and seductive voice is the one that softly whispers, "Why don't you just go ahead and take a nap instead?!"


For this past week I have been good about ignoring all this and getting to the gym to do a little BABY workout - I am in poor enough shape that a 20 minute walk knocks me out.

But yesterday I forgot something.

No, I remembered my new workout shoes - I even took TWO bras (one by accident) and a change of clothes - I took my favorite workout shirt (the gray one).

But I forgot to take a towel for my shower.


I did get spoiled at my old gym, which provided unlimited amount of clean, fresh white towels for wiping your sweaty brow, and in a pinch serving as a towel for your shower.

My current gym does not have any such service.

So standing there, no towel, half-naked, sweating, still breathing hard, I reviewed my options:

--- I could put back on my sweaty gym outfit, ignore my in-town errands and simply drive back home and take a shower there.

---  I could wipe myself down with paper towels ("spit bath" is what the Army calls it)

---  Or I could use what resources were available - a hand-towel and a face-cloth.

Believe it or not, you can get pretty dry using just a hand-towel.

THE BEST OF INTENTIONS

Okay, how do these compare to an hour working out in the gym?

- Taking a twenty-nine year old to a doctor's appointment where she breaks into noisy hysterics about the possibility of perhaps the doctor actually do a physical examination.

- Fighting approximately 1,322 people, 46 infants, and three adults in motorized scooters at Target who were all frantically searching five days before Christmas for the perfect present for both their mother-in-law, the neighbor who picks up your newspaper when you're on vacation, and their children's teachers.

- Walking a frantic greyhound twice today, each time with her straining and trying to keep up with an equally frenetic chocolate Labrador who is chasing imaginary rabbits everywhere.

- Unloading approximately 675 lbs. of alfalfa hay and stacking it into piles between old hay and 50 lbs. sacks of senior equine feed already in the shed.

- Moving each and every single piece of clothing I hang up out of my closet, separating and re-hanging on three rods instead of two.

Yeah, I agree - maybe two hours at the very least.