Larry and I sat down together right after the first of the year and set some joint goals. One of them was to be better about exercising. We took action immediately, Facebooking our friend who owns the gym I go to and signing Larry up for these two coldest winter months. In the spring, he plans to return to working outside for hours on end and, by then, I will be back in the exercise groove.
We’re doing good this week, going when we’ve said we would and working out together. Around five minutes in on the elliptical I felt my anxious mood melting away. Somewhere amid my dance with the weight machines my headache disappeared. I felt better when we got home than I had since, well, when we got home from the gym last time.
Thing is, I know that going to the gym makes me feel better. I love it when I have increased energy, looser clothes, and a pep in my step. So, why is it that I don’t go all the time? It just doesn’t make sense.
They say that dancers love to dance, painters love to paint, and writers love to have written–past tense. Maybe I just love to have exercised, but I don’t think so. I think that it’s just easy to let other obligations crowd out the things we should do to care for ourselves. The irony is, of course, that we’d have more energy to care and give and serve if we took better care of ourselves. It’s a lesson I’m trying to remember on a daily basis. 😊