Baby it's cold outside

I don't know why I chose to begin this morning exercise routine now. And by now, I mean the end of October in Saskatchewan where any day now the snow will fly and your toes will freeze and the car won't start and you'll wish for Florida. Although we've been having unseasonably warm weather, it's supposed to get to 20°C here today, that is guaranteed to change. I mean we live in central Saskatchewan - snow is inevitable.

I have chosen, it seems, to do things the hard way. If I am going to get up for a 5:30 am walk now it is going to be below freezing. So on top of the shin splints and the sore muscles, I'm going to have cold ears and fingers and have to wear two or three layers of clothes and scarves to keep the frost off my face.

So why should I bother? My bed has a nice cocoon of warmth where I lie. It's dark outside and will be for at least another three hours. If I stay in bed I can actually hear the coffee maker click and begin brewing and the warm aroma greets me from the kitchen. If I stay in I can casually watch the morning news while I eat my oatmeal. If I stay I won't have gotten that morning kick start that I quite enjoy and I will be sluggish all day. I won't exercise later because there will be kid to take care of, dishes to do, a house to clean, and all of the other "things" that we have to do in our day.

If I go I will feel great. I will know that I have done something great already that day. If I go I will benefit greatly from the meditative effects of the morning walk. Being all alone with my thoughts feeling my muscles and bones move within me. That is always an amazing thing to me. I try to revel in it when I am out there walking by myself. It starts my day on such a positive note.

So why is it always such a tough sell every morning to get out of bed and get moving? Maybe it would be easier in June.

It's Not Fair

Well here it is, Tuesday morning and I'm still burping up the nacho cheese flavour from last night's popcorn binge. But there's a problem. My secret isn't a secret anymore. I've been found out. I thought I was doing a fabulous job of hiding my addiction, my need to stuff everything down my throat until I was numb. After I had so carefully cleaned up my mess last night, I walked past my son's room on the way to mine to throw myself into bed so I could feel horrible about my actions once again. As I passed his room, I heard him say, "It's not fair."

"What's not fair?" I responded.

"That you get two bowls of popcorn and I don't get any."

I was so ashamed. He's right, it's not fair. It's sad. It's desperate. It's lonely. It's years of eating without thinking. It's stuffing your feelings down with food instead of addressing them. It's putting on a brave and happy face to the rest of the world and trying to find fulfillment at the bottom of a bowl or a bag when no one else is looking. It's painful. And it's not fair.