easing back in

I am a lot of things. Sensitive? Don't let the cool exterior fool you. Stubborn? My family invented it. Generous? To a fault. Flexible? In body probably more than mind, but yep, that too.

I am not, however, one that you would call overzealous in getting krackalacken.

Resolution Number One - to start writing here again - pretty much taxed all motivation for the first week of 2007. Everything takes more effort when you are out of practice.

Week Two was a launching pad for getting Resolution Number Two - getting back to the gym - off the ground. Surely, with a whole week as a self-imposed deadline, I could handle that. Especially one that I haven't officially said out loud to anyone. Plus, even less than a year ago I was a five-days a week gym slave. Okay, four on average. But definitely always three. I just had to get in the pattern again.

Sunday: didn't leave the house all day except a quick jaunt to return some absurdly overdue movies, one of which I didn't even watch.

Monday: accidentally missed (can you say "subconciously avoided"?) the exit and ended up at the super market instead.

Tuesday: Having realized that I didn't have socks in my gym bag (the gym bag that has been packed and sitting in my office since, um, July) I headed home. Come on, I know you hear me. Working out without socks sucks. You start working up a sweat, already flailing appendages this way and that on the eliptical, and suddenly you are slipping and sliding in your shoes. I suppose it makes for a better core workout, but I didn't need the extra challenge.

I felt the old pattern of excuses taking hold. I'm home! It is chilly out! Time for dinner! I didn't sleep well last night!

But, my friends, you will be proud. Instead of throwing the car keys aside and resigning to spend another night in front of the tube, I went and found those dastardly socks. And I pulled them on. And wrangled the girls into two bras (yes, two, or talk about flailing appendages). And dug out the lined running pants that were missing from the summertime-stocked bag. And shoved a bit of sustenance into my mouth (though Honey BBQ Frito Twists might have defeated the purpose).

And as I stood there, munching, I made a deal with myself: 30 minutes with an upped heartbeat and you're done. No weights. No crunches. No lunges. Not today. Today, just get there. And I marched right back out the door.

Given that it is the get-my-body-back resolution time of year for not only me but for every other part-timer with a gym membership, the parking lot was a cluster like I have never seen. The back lot had a whole extra row of cars down the middle, forcing 4+ point turns to eek one's way into a spot. It was enough to make you want to go home and nap. But I did eek my way into a spot, left the Mim-mobile parked at an obscure angle (which pains the rule-abiding side of me), and ambled in. Had to swipe my card twice through the machine (backwards the first time since I'm out of practice). Weaved my way into the locker room and stripped off my coat and running pants. Breathe in! Walked back out into the socializing nightmare of the main floor to find nary an open machine in sight.

But! I did not give up! On to the women's workout room. And, ta da!, one single elipitical stood waiting for me. I jumped on and gave that taunting machine a good, solid 30 minutes. I was proud of myself.

As I marched, I silently congratulated all the people who were obviously new to the gym thing and remembered what it was like two years ago to start the battle of losing those 30 pounds. Thirty pounds that had crept up on me out of nowhere until one day I looked at a recent photo and saw a bloated, stuffed sausage staring back. A daunting battle at the start, a liberating reward at the end.

I rehearsed a speech in my head to all the newcomers about how those first 6 weeks are always the toughest, but then suddenly your clothes start to fit better and the exhaustion evolves into a spring in your step. And you too could drop a few sizes in a year! No pills, no fad diets - just hard work and eating right (most of the time). And then you get to buy a new wardrobe! And make fun of your "fat days" with your BFFs. And everyone tells you how great you look! Keep at it kids!

And while the mileage gauge told me I did not flail as far as I normally do, my head was happy and muscles tingly. I'm just easing back in.