Most people hate Mondays. I don't. I don't think I'm a workaholic, necessarily, but I love structure, and especially when I've lived without it for a while, I welcome it.
I woke up detemined to do penance for the last couple of days. I took my walk first thing (do I even need to add "hot and humid," even at that early hour?). I was lost in my thoughts, and wasn't paying attention to the route, and found myself completing the 1.7 route with Banks, rather than the 1.3. That threw off the rest of the calculations, so once I released him, I walked it again (now 3.4) then went to St. Ed's (.3), walked the soccer field oval three times (1 mile), walked home (another .3, bringing the grand total to 5.0). I was soaked when I got home.
After two full days of awful eating, my body was CRAVING healthy fuel. I toasted a bagel and topped it with scrambled eggs, a slice of Canadian bacon and cheese, along with two cups of coffee. I don't want to hear anything about grapefruit or cottage cheese. This meal was fabulous, filling and nutritious.
As we near the halfway point, I am just about ready to incorporate the gym thing. This heat is sucking the joy out of my walking, and God knows Banks is flagging. I'm getting excited about some of the perks of the gym: air conditioning, television, cute guys to look at, and machines to facilitate my vow to work on the upper body. Best of all, I think I could fit it in over a lunch hour (maybe a half hour with Banks in the morning, and an hour in the gym?), which gives me one more daily option. Believe me, walking five at noon right now is NOT an option, and I'm getting a little tired of the panicky feeling when the night is slipping away and I haven't walked yet.
By the way, I still haven't figured out how Meredith Baxter got from here to there.
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