Bitch, That Was Your Last Excuse

This afternoon when my boss gave me the afternoon off, out of nowhere, I thought,

“Bitch, that was your last excuse.”

Let me rewind a bit.

Just yesterday, while thinking about exercising and getting fit, I ate half a box of Girl Scout Caramel Delites. Then I felt sorry for myself because my stomach hurt. This comes after about two years of Very Little Exercise (depression sucks like that) and lots of thinking about, and talking about, and pondering about, exercise. It’s hard to exercise when your body feels so stiff and miserable from not exercising. Then, the cookies, and then some texts with a friend to maybe work out tomorrow (we noticeably didn’t set a time), and then my boss suggested leaving work early to enjoy the beautiful day. I mean, the nerve. He just got up and started walking out the door. And that’s when I thought to myself, “Bitch, that was your last excuse.” It was a statement directed at myself. Like…

Bitching Doesnt Burn Calories

So I did what most women would do when faced with no excuse for exercise. I went shopping.

No really, I went to the sporting goods store because it was a beautiful day, but still cold enough to hurt my ears, and that was also one of my excuses: That I lost my ear warmer band several years ago and my poor ears hurt. So I removed that obstacle. Then I went home, changed, donned my new ear warmer, and went running.

Here’s another obstacle: I used to be a runner and know how it feels to run well and fast. Now when I run, my ankles feel like rusty-Wizard-of-Oz-Tinman ankles, and my lungs burn, and my arms try to swing across my torso rather than pumping efficiently. I started today with the run-walk thing, which one time felt laughable. I’m sorry for that, if my formerly confident runner attitude hurt anyone’s feelings. I’m on the other side of the fence now.

I set little goals, like run to that police car! Now go a little further! Run to that park bench! Now keep going to the end of the street! It was like coaxing a toddler to eat another bite of peas, only I was coaxing myself.

Running Shoes

I squished through a mud puddle and it felt good to get dirty.

My shadow morphed and bumbled down the sidewalk, for 30 minutes, and it was the best 30 minutes of my week.

Running ShadowWhere I was expecting misery and instead found energy, that–for sure–was my last excuse.