This morning I awoke to my daughter slamming doors. I rolled over, intending to come eye to eye with my husband. But the bed was empty. As usual.
No, it’s not for the reasons you may think. I didn’t send him to the couch after a fight. He didn’t willingly sleep in another room. He slept in our bed. But he got up early—he went to the gym.
It’s not the first time either. My husband has been going to the gym (which happens to be located directly downstairs from us) nearly every morning for the past few weeks. In the off chance he doesn’t make it in the morning, he goes at night. Great, right? No—not if YOU’RE the one who really needs to go. His motivation is inspiring. It’s also annoying. He’s thin! He’s going to the gym to bulk up his arms and to feel good—in short, to be healthy. And I’m championing is efforts. After all, I love him and I want him around for a long, long time. But I’m also seething with jealously. His motivation slaps me in the face with my own lack of motivation.
The moral of this story? I need to get my butt to the gym.
So today, come h-e-double hockey sticks or high water, I will make time to exercise. I’ll join my husband on his fitness crusade. I’ll go down a jean size, or two, or three. And I’ll remind myself that exercise feels GOOD. Sure, it’s hard the first day or so but it’s exhilarating once you get going and once you finish for the day. It’s good for the body and the soul. My husband has figured that out. Me? I’m still snoring in lala land while he’s pumping iron.
Today it’s time for a change—would you like to join me?