Working it out

I'm trying to think of a good name for the treadmill.
Psychologically, I think it might help me use it. If I can think of it like "I'm going to hang out with Rachel for 2.2 miles" it might change my outlook.
I have missed very few days. I took Sundays off. This morning, I started late and had to dismount early due to a pressing need to visit the bathroom. Other than that, I have been very faithful.
But it's not easy.
The absolute last thing I wanted to do this morning was get on that damn machine.
I did every chore I could think of first. Fed the dogs and cats. Fixed the Ump's lunch. Gathered my stuff together. Finally, I headed to the front room, turned on NPR (National Public Radio - for the uninitiated) and climbed wearily on board.
Most of the time, I find a rhythm and I can put behind my early disgruntlement. I always feel better when I have exercised at least a half hour in the morning. It's that small lag time between getting out of bed and getting on the treadmill that causes the little devil cindy pop out on my left shoulder (that's my bad shoulder) and good cindy on the right.
Badcindy: "Why should you get up early while he's lying in bed with Peanut?"
Goodcindy: "You know it's easier to get going with both of them out from underfoot. Bless their hearts."
Badcindy: "Bless nothing. You do all the morning chores and then get on that treadmill while that stinky little dog curls up on your side of the bed beside your snoring husband. Is that fair?"
Goodcindy: "Well, it's not like we can both use the treadmill at the same time. This works out well. So what if I have to get up before 6 a.m.?"
Badcindy: "I think you should let him exercise in the morning and you could do it in the evening while you are fixing dinner. Better yet, let him fix dinner too."
Goodcindy: "This conversation is really going no place. I'm not even going to listen to you any more."
Badcindy: "Suit yourself. He's a better cook anyway."
Goodcindy: "What! He doesn't even know how to use measuring spoons. And the kitchen is always a wreck..."
Badcindy: "I thought you were the good guy."
Goodcindy: "Grr."
Or something like that. I always feel like there is a battle going on. I know what I need to do to get healthy and lose weight. Why is it such a struggle?
Ever since I can remember, food has been a source of comfort. Many of my earliest memories are about food. I wasn't a fat kid, either. I was pretty skinny. I remember weighing 115 pounds when I was in 8th grade.
After that it was all uphill. Or downhill, depending on which way the river flows. (Shenandoah County joke.)
I hate - and hate is not even a strong enough word - how much power I have given to food. Even now, while we are trying to eat reasonably, I find myself wanting food the way an alcoholic craves his next drink. And I think it must be that way forever. Something has to replace the power of food. Something has to fill the vacuum left that was filled by food.
I am not sure what that something is just yet, but I feel like I am close to finding out.
I'll let you know.

It's in the house

It's been gathering inside of me like a storm.
The battle with my weight has been a protracted war.
The last time I recall being the proper weight was when I was in eighth grade. From then on I have been carrying too much poundage for my 5'6'' frame.
I could go into protracted reasoning for my condition, but I don't have a lot of time right now. Perhaps one day I will dig a little deeper. The pain is just below the surface and any scratching is likely to release demons I certainly do not want to face on a Friday morning as I head off to work.
BUT, I have good news.
Back to the gathering storm.
I have felt the need to do something. Not just for myself, but for the Ump who fights his own weight battle.
About three weeks ago we implemented a very simple nutrition plan that we have been able to stick to. I've lost between 6 and 7 pounds and he has lost 5.
Now the exercise. I have really struggled to get to the gym. I would prefer to exercise in the morning but my gym doesn't open until 7 a.m. and that is just not enough time for me to workout and get to work by 8 a.m.
It's cold now, so walking in the morning is difficult (and it's still dark too),
Then it hit me.
Why not buy our own treadmill.
Not one of those crappy Wal-Mart kinds, but invest in a treadmill that is as good as what I use at the gym.
The Ump and I both like treadmills. He is getting ready for baseball season, so it would be a reasonable way for him to get flexible too.
It did not take much convincing - even though I knew it would cost quite a bit.
We went to Sears last night with the intention of buying a medium grade treadmill with a motor and electronics etc. We ended up buying a Nordic Trac that was on sale. It seems very sturdy.
I dreamed about it last night and when I woke up before 6 a.m., I immediately dressed and got on board.
It feels like a miracle is about to happen.
That storm that is rising inside of me. It's not a bad storm. It's the kind that when it has blown and blasted and ripped and finally moved away, everything seems greener and brighter, sparkly.
I'm going for the sparkles.