…that a good workout could leave me feeling hopeful. I ran for eleven minutes on the treadmill. That may not seem like a lot to most but for me, it’s huge. I called Timmy afterward and told him that it actually makes me think that maybe I’m not as out of shape as I feared. Or rather, maybe I can actually get into shape.
I feel as healthy as I ever have. I’m working out 3-4 days a week. I’m drinking more water, which makes me feel so much better. After several failed attempts, I’m actually in a routine of taking a daily multi-vitamin. I learned I’m lactose intolerant, which may not seem like a good thing but it’s nice to know why my stomach was so messed up. The only thing I really need to work on is eating better. I hate greens; I love grease.
But overall, I feel really good and it feels good to feel good. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am allowed to ask my body to do something. “Hey, let’s go for a walk with Jessie and not huff and puff.” “Let’s sprint up the stairs and not want to die.” And my body can actually oblige. When I first started working out, I was listening to the stats of heart disease on the radio and and I didn’t feel guilty because I knew I had started doing something about it. And now I can run on a treadmill. That’s progress and I’m so hopeful.
On a side note:
On my way from the gym, I was stopped at a red light on South Avenue when I heard sirens. I looked around for Timmy because I knew he was working close by. Then I saw him in his Crozer 100D medic car. The lights were flashing and the sirens blaring. He turned onto South Ave and drove past me. And I have to admit: I was turned on. My husband’s hot :)
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