Getting out of bed is the hardest part, but there are far fewer excuses available at 4:30 in the morning. At the end of the day the I'm-tired-I-have-to-cook-clean-launder-grade-plan-rehearse excuse is too easy to come by. The only other thing I would be doing is sleeping, and how much of a difference would one hour of sleep really make?
The cold weather plan is the YMCA, a ten minute drive from the house. Ten there, ten back, thirty on some torturous cardiovascular machine, and another ab-blasting ten balancing one ball under my back and another, heavier one above my head. On warmer mornings I much prefer the five mile morning trail to coffee and back.
Having endured a routine like this for three-plus years, I guess I should see some remarkable results. My dress size is still well into the two digits, and other numbers and measurements shall not be uttered, much less published electronically. This isn't part of a resolution or a gimmick. I just genuinely feel better if I get the old sack of bones moving every day. My step is lighter, my head is clearer, and my mood is better. So Y not?
