Lawrence Toppman
Unfortunately, it's exercise. Despite pathetically feeble good intentions, I haven't walked on my treadmill since returning from Las Vegas.
I have no shortage of excuses, all lame: I still feel like I'm on vacation, it's hot in my house (we keep the temperature at 76 to save on air conditioning), gloomy skies encourage me to stay in bed and hit the snooze alarm over and over, I'm working late every night rehearsing "H.M.S. Pinafore" and can't get to bed at my usual time. (Thus, I sleep in.)
Friends who love to run/walk/swim have told me exercise will become a joy, once I do enough of it. Either they're deranged, or I am never going to do enough of it to take pleasure in it. Even when I was walking 2.5 miles up an incline every weekday morning, I never enjoyed myself. (Though I did feel better physically.)
Of course, now that I've stopped, I feel guilty every morning when I walk past the machine without turning it on. The combined shame supplied by my conscience and my scale will probably get me back on track Monday, if not tomorrow.
Probably.
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1 comments:
You must not want to lose weight very badly ~ excuses only satisfy the giver! If you want to do this do it ~ if not, quit dragging us through this process!
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