Recovery.

About four weeks ago I came down with an awful cold, and then one day I had a terrible migraine, and then we went out of town for the weekend, and then I contracted an eye infection at LensCrafters, and then my in-laws came to visit this weekend, and what do you know: I hadn't managed my regular exercise schedule for almost a month.

I did get to the gym a couple of times in there, but not more than that.

And do you know, I felt real resistance (sloth!) when it came time to start going again. Just a sort of "nah, I could go tomorrow instead."   Running seemed yucky, and swimming suddenly seemed complicated.   I can see how one week could turn into one month could turn into never again.  It kind of frightened me.  

Luckily, I always enjoy swimming, and I know it, so all I had to overcome was the "complicated" bit.  The most important part of any workout is to show up for it.  "I'll show up.  If the 4yo won't stay in the child care, or the baby nurses until I run out of time, or the goggles hurt my recovering eye, I don't have to go through with it."  I showed up, it went fine (except that I'm already noticeably slower and weaker — wow that happens fast), and I think I'm back on track now.

It's just sort of astonishing how dependent the belief "I have to do this three times a week" is on the evidence.  I mean, I don't have to do it three times a week.  Clearly I didn't self-destruct in my month of illness and schedule conflicts.  And so I could stop exercising.  I don't want to stop.  Maybe I have to pretend to myself that I can't stop, so that I won't.

On the other hand, I guess I didn't stop.  So maybe I'm safe even knowing the reality that I hold the choice in my own hands all the time.  It feels dangerous.