P90X

Anybody else ever done P90X?

I thought I was tough. I thought I had a high pain threshold. I thought I had great will power and could force myself to do things I didn't think I could do.

Let me tell you, I am a PANSY!!!

Day 1 down, 89 to go.

The soreness hasn't even set in, but I think I'm going to die.

That is all.

He Told Me So

It was 6:15am. All I wanted was the warmth, comfort, and security of my soft fluffy bed. I was groggily lacing up my shoes and zipping up my thin jacket, bracing myself against the gripping chill of a Stygian, tenebrous Autumn morning.

"I think we should bring the camera on our walk this morning," my husband said.

*grumble grumble* was all I could mutter.

"We see so many neat things on these walks, I think we should bring it."

Whether by my icy blank stare or a further grumble, I'm not sure, but somehow I kaboshed his suggestion.

Once we reached the park, of course, my "I want to go back to bed" mantra melted away and bite of the crisp October morning invigorated me to the core. The blood was rushing, my heart was pumping, and I was grateful to be alive and inhaling the beauty of this place.

We've seen some pretty spectacular sights on these morning excursions. Triple rainbows, spawning salmon, samurai Egrets, river otters, whole flocks of Canadian geese alighting on the fiery sunrise-lit glassy waters... I thought we'd seen it all. And then we saw... him.

Sleek ebon body, bipartite white stripes, defiant top-of-the-food-chain mien. Any ideas?

Without a shred of mercy, Pepé looked directly at us, lifted his tail, and started to do the skunky handstand. I knew for sure I'd be soaking in vinegar baths and avoiding polite company for the next two months.

My husband calmly and firmly grasped my hand, we halted, backed up, and walked in another direction. I was mentally cancelling all of my dinner engagements when I looked over my shoulder, preparing to face the bilious blast. Pepé was waddling away!

We crossed paths, less confrontationally, with the skunk several more times during our stroll. At each encounter, the remembrance of my grumpy grousing returned to reproach me. How fun it would have been to photograph the fetid fink!

When, at last, we were within the safety of my sedan, the corners of my husband's mouth were scarcely concealing his impish smile. He never said it. But we both had a good laugh as I wryly and ruefully remarked, "You were right."

Systems

Three weeks ago I began the new cleaning routine. So far? Still on the bandwagon! The dishes are done each night before going to bed, laundry is begun, house clutter picked up and clothes are laid out. Each morning the dishes are put away, laundry is dried, the bathroom is "swished and swiped," and peace reigns. I'm not exaggerating or joking when I say it: our home is palpably holier.

Having a "system" in place is making all the difference. I need routine, I need habits, I need order and schedule; I thrive on them.

This morning I started a new walking routine. 5am? I'll never do it. 6am? Not likely. 7am? I think I can deal with this. Trying to wake up too early, in the past, has thwarted my efforts before they began. Not only was I trying to implement exercising, I was also trying to wake up earlier than normal. Two new (and, to me, unpleasant) habits was too much and I always inevitably failed.

With this 7am regime I have new hope.

I also have a blister on my left pinkie toe.

5 More Minutes, Dear

Apparently you have to do something for three months before it can be a real habit.

Yesterday my husband, brother-in-law and I hit the track at 5:30am for some much-needed exercise.

This morning the alarm went off at 5:15 and, sure enough, we got up again.

2 days down, 88 to go.

Heaven help us.