Monday, February 11, 2008
I don't know what is the matter with me. I know I need to exercise. I know I don't even mind it that much when I'm doing it. I know I feel better for doing it, and yet I have to beat myself into going to the gym. Oh, and by "go to the gym," I mean get in the lift and go down to the ground floor!
I had a pleasant surprise today and got to come home early. Did I work out early and get it done? Noooo. I packed my gym bag HOURS before I finally went downstairs. Pathetic.
But go down I did. And considering my recent surgery, it was actually a pretty energetic workout. I worked out for close to two hours, doing both cardio and weight work. The endorphins kicked in early on, and I felt great by the end of it.
The concierges bake cookies every evening. As I come out of the gym, I often turn into Jerry from the Tom & Jerry cartoons, floating on the wafting scent of fresh baked, still warm cookies. (Cookies, not cheese, but you get the idea.) One evening, I was eyeing up the cookies but decided I needed milk to really enjoy them. Cesar, the concierge that evening, actually kept them in the back room until I returned from the convenience store with milk, so that they would not be scarfed down by other residents before I returned!
Cesar was on duty again this evening, as I left the gym, feeling both pride and a sense of accomplishment. Why do I struggle to do what I know I need to do, especially when there is a possibility of a cookie afterwards? One would think I'd be desperate to get down there and get cracking! Walking through the lobby on my way to the lift, I scooped up a chocolate chip cookie and called out to Cesar, "I love you!"
He grinned, and we were both happy.