~ click image to make biggerer ~
I almost had myself talked out of walking this morning. I got up later than usual. Seven thirty instead of my usual four or five that I get up during the week. I was home alone so I thought I catch up on some sleep. I really like sleeping. I’ve mentioned this before. I have great vivid dreams of exciting adventures and since I know how to do directed dreaming things almost always go my way. I’m a bit of a control freak, so any place where I get what I want, is a good place. Hence, my overwhelming joy in sleeping, napping, having a bit of a snooze.
I need an hour and two cups of coffee before I’m in any way functional, so it was eight thirty or quarter to nine and I began telling myself how I had other things to do and it was hot out and if I walked I wouldn’t be able to do anything else for the rest of the day. Oh, yeah, I’m good with the negative talk.
Then I felt guilty because my daughter has an UP band and we can see each other’s status and she would ask me where mine was. I started with the negative reinforcement or inducements or whateves which would have surely caused me to sit my ass down and not move an inch. I decided instead to make nice nice with me.
Reciting the benefits I knew I would reap if I managed to get over my initial hurdles, I pulled on socks, pants, bra and shirt. I got dressed, in clothes, on a Sunday, yes I did. I knew I would clear my mind of all of the junk that collects there overnight. I’d come up with some good ideas ~ always a nice bonus. I’d warm up my left knee and my hip joints. I’d sweat out toxins. Once I was done, I would feel better physically and I’d be proud of my accomplishment. Only I know how truly hard it is to get me moving. When getting out of bed each morning is a major victory, walking out the door is like climbing Mount Everest.
Before I start, I get grumpy face. I can feel myself scowling and I can feel the tension growing in my neck and shoulders. I build this fantasy in my mind that exercising is like slogging through a clogged sewer drain, sort of like the scene in which Andy Dufresne escapes from Shawshank Prison. If he knew how disgusting and smelly it would be, I bet he wouldn’t even try. That image is not easy to get over.
Since I know, intellectually, that once I get going, I actually enjoy walking, I need a new picture, a new vision of the walking experience. Something light and musical and rhythmic, like dancing or maybe a butterfly flitting from one beautiful flower to another, collecting pollen and nectar. Maybe I can be light as a fairy. I’d like to be a fairy.