Aselin

Generally I try and stay in shape. My challenge in this area is with motivation.

Today is a running day on my schedule. As I'm waking I feel a hyper-gravitational pull of my bottom to my bed. For a woman who often can't call her children by the correct names and doesn't remember why she entered a room, I have an incredible number of excuses of why I should skip todays session flying through my brain at warp speed.

This battle of wills goes on in virtually every health conscious mind, unless you're weird.

I have a couple of neighbors who are weird. Coming home from a run a few days ago I sputter and gasp my way into the driveway as one of them was leaving for his run. "Morning Neighbor," he bellows, "I can't decide whether to do 20 or 25 this morning." "Minutes?" I ask. He actually laughed in my face and said "No silly rabbit, miles." Oh, yeah, miles. since I barely made it to the mailbox and back I don't think in those measurement terms.

Not wanting to look stupid I start pretending I'm taking my pulse as I say, "Yeah, that's a tough decision." I internally panic as I realize I don't have an actual pulse. My heart is pounding so fast I can't measure the spaces between the beats. I flash a toothy, bug spattered grin and say "Have a great workout." All I want him to do is go away so he doesn't see me collapse in a sweaty heap.

Finally he starts off and I think I'm clear to vomit when around the corner come more weird neighbors on racing bikes. They're dressed in those flashy little jumpsuits only a biker understands. I'm sure there's a valid reason one would don the mini skintight jumpsuit. I've never had the guts to ask, but I think it's so the rest of us drivers distracted by our double cheeseburgers notice them on the road. It's pretty hard to miss a grown man in a mini-jumpsuit, even when being mesmerized by bacony goodness.

I'm trying to hide from them behind a bush, but my bright florescent red heat-stroked face gives me away. "Hi Neighbor," they yell in odd unison. "Hi guys," (in mini-jumpsuits) I reply wondering where I can get a bacon cheeseburger for breakfast. "How'd you do today?" one asks assuming I really worked out. "Not bad," I lie, "and you?" "We had a flat tire just south of Flagstaff that slowed us down so we're getting back a little late, but it was a good ride!"

It's 5:45 in the morning. What do these people do? Do they have jobs? I know they are going back to their homes to consume packages of gel food and sew more padding into the seat of their mini-jumpsuits.

They round the corner and I'm finally safe. Doubled over with my hands on my knees I take deep breaths trying not to pass out. Yeah, this is the life.

And I do it again the next day. Maybe tomorrow I'll make it to the end of the block.