Getting old, getting hurt, getting it done.

Finally, I schlepped myself out from the coccoon of warmth at a respectable 5:35 am. The white-fur-dropping-flea-bag might have encouraged my timely exit. As much as that diva drives me crazy, I don’t ignore her when she meows because I’ll pay the price later.

My mind was engrossed in a million responsibilities leaving scarcely a heed to the goings on around or in me. Even walking across a frigid concrete floor enacted minimal reaction. The first sixteen minutes on the treadmill passed like traveling through a small town on a country road when you blink.

The window caught my eye shortly after 6 am.

Yes, I saw it. It was sunlight.

I thought as much about my next moves as I did that first sixteen minutes on the treadmill. I jumped off, closed up the treadmill, slid it into place, put on my Merrell pace gloves and took off outside.

It was the early morning daylight run I had promised myself.

The outdoor setting refused to let me continue in mindless routine. The wild winds whipped through my sweat soaked hair transmitting an icy current across my skull, down my neck, and dissipating into my shoulders. At the same time, I captured frigid breezes inside my lungs. The shocking coldness awakened my nerves from the inside out.

It felt so fantastically good to be running outside in the morning again.

Tonight, I found it incredibly difficult to maintain the Run Smiley attitude on the treadmill. Not because it gets horrendously boring, I mean, they don’t call it the dreadmill for nothing, but because the red digital indicators blaze into your soul from the faceplate of the treadmill.

I hesitated before stepping onto the textured belt. I didn’t want to exhaust myself too quickly which would be easy because of the lack of running I had done lately. I wanted to run at a zen-like pace that would allow me to run for endless hours. even if I was only going to run 30 minutes. My hesitation was the cue for the red digital indicators on the faceplate to squint at me as though they were thinking, “Zen? We’ll see about that!”

Almost immediately that treadmill started to taunt me in a passive aggressive manner. 5.0 mph flashed at me. I swear I heard it sigh. I tried to focus on my form. I thought about short strides and forefoot landing but I heard it sigh again. I adjusted the speed to 5.5 mph after justifying that I had only been easing into running, a warm-up, if you will.

The treadmill bided its time to to see if I would increase the speed on my own. When I failed to react to the flickering 5.5 mph that I’m pretty sure spelled out “snail” in morse code, the treadmill gave up on passive aggressive tricks and upped the ante. A perky little 20 something climbed aboard the adjacent treadmill. I glanced at the blazing red 5.5 mph on my treadmill wishing I had a sweaty towel throw across the faceplate to prevent anyone else from knowing I was a snail.

Of course, I had no qualms in peaking at Miss 20-something’s speed. It was 5.7 mph. My 5.5 mph blinked “s-n-a-i-l” at me again. I was still wishing for a towel.

Undeniably, I subcumed to digital, red indicator pressure. I’m pretty sure I saw a smirk on the computerized face of my treadmill when I reached up to increase my speed to 5.6 mph. The smirk was then replaced by perma-smug as I raised the speed to 5.8 mph a minute later. I’m not certain, but I think I heard the faint starting tones of We Are The Champions as I beeped my way up to 6.0 mph a short bit later.

I might have let those red digital numbers goad me into going faster than I had meant to go but one can’t deny that it felt good to flex and contract those running muscles. I barely had any belt burns on my toes to boot.

Here I sit in with gluttony and hate
Knowing ruin will be my ultimate fate

…while I was out running. He was lost and confused.

Turned my 2 miler into a 1 miler. :( but at least he’s home safe.

that this break in the weather sticks.  I’m tired of running in 95 degree F heat.

Yesterday, I think I burnt 958 calories sneezing from allergies.  Maybe it will make up for all the chips I ate.  Oi.

Early in the morning, I tap the beat
No more sleep, I’m out before the heat
I look strange to the people I meet
I can’t help it, I love my barefeet

4ish miles.

So glad that thing is empty. It’s late and that glass has kept me up much later than it should have.

Water- sip, check
No sugar - 38 hours and counting

Instead of waiting until next week, I’m adding Frito’s chips to the list. I played the “How many Frito’s can you fit in your stomach?” game today. I lost. I was the only player so I lost big.

I don’t just need to put Frito’s on the list. I WANT to put Frito’s on the list. This will be the last thing I add for seven days or until I feel I can handle being in the same state as Frito’s without going crazy whichever comes first.

Worked out with the bag and did another day of the 100 pushup program. I challenged someone to a pushup contest last night at Cub scouts. I have about 4 weeks to kick booty. I have to help the Hubs lift a snowmobile into a truck on Thursday so I also practiced lifting it with my legs.

I have attempted to get my eating habits together several times this summer. It’s the old story. Good for three to four days just to come crashing back down.

I’m trying something different this time. I’m transitioning slowly. Since cold turkey hasn’t worked this year, I’ve going to work with the tortoise.

I want to quit cold turkey. I’m driving myself mad with wanting to quit everything cold turkey. I’m hoping that desire to jump in with both feet will couple well with the one step at a time. Maybe by the time I feel like I’ve elimi ated all the nasty food, I will be a habitual health foodie.

Last week, it was increasing my hydration. I need to revert to my habit of drinking water all the time. I did better. This week, I will start on the sugar. No cookies, donuts, cake, ice cream, candy bars, or pie.

Water; no sugar.