Climbing back onto the wagon counts as exercise, right?

Things got a bit harried around here in April. Stuff. Things. Issues, perceived and real. They all added up so to gain a little coping time I started skipping the gym. Not a lot, just once a week or so. But that once turned into twice which turned into “OMG I just want to go home and curl up on the couch with the cat and a glass of rum and a brain-candy DVD in the player.”

I’ve been spending a fair chunk of every week working out for years and years but in April I stopped gyming altogether. All physical activity ceased as I curled up into a little pod and hid for a while. Now I have a new problem: I want to start again but I’ve gotten used to being lazy.

Doh! Suddenly what used to be a necessity now feels like an imposition. “What, you mean I have to leave the house AND change into different clothes? Why on earth would I want to do something like that?”

Much mental effort has been expended lately explaining to myself exactly why on earth I want to do something like that. I almost have myself convinced (I think) so hopefully next week I can hop back on the wagon and start working out again. Publicly announcing it here makes it more likely to happen.