Day 12: Que Sera, Sera... Whatever Will Be, Will Be...

I am definitely not feeling the love (of exercise) today. Not that I ever did, but I'm trying to keep a positive face on my predicament. It's been 12 days since my mind tripped fantastically on the insane idea of exercising every day for the next 365 days. What in the world was I thinking?


I could have made my promise just to myself, not letting anyone in on the secret, and when the whole thing came crashing down upon my head, I could have just forgotten about it. But then I had the bright idea to "blog about it." Put it out there for everyone to see! Although, no one really seems to have read my blog as of yet; so far it looks like I'm the only visitor. But maybe that will change. Or maybe not. I'm prepared for anything.


But I don't mind telling you that I am a little bothered by the fact that I don't feel any different, even after 12 consecutive days of 'break a sweat' exercise and sensible food choices. My husband says that I think of my journey so far as twelve long days, when really I should be thinking 'it's only been twelve days.' I guess I'll have to take my own advice from Day 1 of my blog: "If you can't change something, then change the way you think about it."



I'm going to keep on with my quest toward becoming fit, even though there's no visible light at the end of this tunnel, but I have to say that I'm glad it's the weekend. Saturday and Sunday I swim instead of going to the gym. And that will be a nice change.


Peace/Love,
Betsy

Day 11: It's Not Always Wine And Roses; Sometimes It's Prune Juice And Dandelions!

I love today's title. My grandmother used to say it in Sicilian to me when things didn't always turn out the way I thought they would.  


Speaking of things not turning out as expected, that would be me today. I may have overdone it at the Y yesterday. I felt good and thought I would try to push myself a little; riding the stationary bike a little longer at a higher tension and walking an extra half mile at a higher speed on the treadmill. I also did two sets of 12 instead of one set on the leg lift and leg push machines. And now I am paying for it. 


I should have come home yesterday and iced my knee, but I had other things going on and I just ignored it. This morning I awoke to a very swollen and painful muscle around the knee.  Also hot to the touch which doesn't seem to me a good thing.


So what to do? I took some ibuprofin, iced it and elevated it while I watched an episode of The West Wing (IMHO, the BEST show ever made for television). I couldn't decide if I should go to the Y and push on or rest my leg for a day. Then the skies opened up and it poured cats and dogs, thus giving me another reason to stay put. 


But what about my promise to exercise every day for the next 365 days? I can't wimp out after just 11 days, can I? No way! I turned on the television and looked through all the fitness shows On Demand. I was taken with name "Cardioke," so I checked it out. How much fun is that? I sat in a chair so as not to hurt my still swollen knee, and I just followed along with the upper body workout. Whew! I worked up as much sweat as a full workout! 


So, even though life gave me prune juice and dandelions today, I was still able to keep on keeping on by improvising a little. And it was a nice change. And I can still count today as an exercise day. Some days you just gotta get creative.

Day 10: Someone Told Me It's All Happening At The "Y"

Six months ago I had total knee replacement surgery on my right knee (I had the same surgery on my left knee in 2009). After I got out of the hospital I had home care, a physical therapist named Lucy, who came to the house twice a week to help me with exercises to strengthen my knee.


Lucy was a terrific therapist and I always enjoyed her visits. On one visit she received a phone call regarding the swim team that she coaches at the local Y. Now, at that time, my knowledge of the YMCA was next to nothing. I knew that it stood for the "Young Mens Christian Association," but that was about it. I had the erroneous idea that the Y was a place for disadvantaged youths by day and a homeless shelter by night. I don't know where I got that idea, but, boy, was I wrong!


Our local Y is a terrific place. First of all, it's clean. The locker rooms are clean, the gym is clean and the pool, my favorite part of the Y, is clean. It's also never crowded (although that may change once the community pools close for the summer). The only challenging part for me is getting out of the pool. It is hard to bend my knee deep enough to get up the vertical steps. But with my husband's help I can make it just fine. We swim on Saturday and Sunday, and the rest of the week, Monday through Friday, I work out in the gym. And did I mention the staff? I can't say enough good things about the staff at our Y. They are wonderful! Everyone there is knowledgeable and eager to help.


Having this resource available makes my 365 days of exercise a lot easier. I never liked to exercise but I have to say that because of the Y, I just might change the way I feel about it. And the Y is going to go a long way to helping me keep my promise to myself. This time, I think I just might reach my goal. And how sweet that will be!


Someone told me it's all happening at the Y, and they were right!


Peace/Love,
Betsy

Day 9: If It Was Easy Everybody Would Do It

It's been 9 days into my self-imposed undertaking to exercise every day for the next 365 days, and I haven't worked up the nerve to weigh myself yet. I decided I am not going weigh myself until I feel my bra getting looser. I always lose in my boobs first, which is okay with me 'cause I'm sick of carrying these puppies around.

In the meantime, while I'm waiting for my boobs to shrink, I have been fantasizing about the new wardrobe I will eventually need to buy. Now, I'm not one for fancy clothes, I'm all about comfort. As a writer, I'm home all day working at my computer, so a pair of jeans or khakis that fit me and flatter me, would be a dream come true. 

There was a picture of an outfit that I saw in a catalog called The Territory Ahead that I have been drooling over for years: it consists of a terrific pair of jeans, a crisp white t-shirt and the most beautifully simple leather jacket you've ever seen -- a warm chocolate color, sort of a boxy style that closes with a zipper. Casually elegant, I would say; Rachel Zoe would say, "I die!" 

That will be the first thing I'm going to buy when I reach my goal. What can I say, I'm a simple girl.

(If I can find a picture of this outfit I will post it!)

Day 8: I'm Just Sitting Here Waiting For My Real Life To Begin

When you were a child what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be an actress. The next Merle Streep was my goal. I wanted to be a star! It was 1977 and I was 23 years old and time was a'wastin. I figured it was now or never, so I packed up my baby blue Kharman Ghia and drove from Pennsylvania to Hollywood. I lasted 3 months before I called my dad and begged him to send me enough money to get back home.

I thought I wanted to be an actress more than anything in the world. But I guess I didn't want it as bad as I thought I did. I didn't achieve my ultimate goal. Not because I wasn't talented enough (I thought I was!) and not that I didn't want it bad enough (I did!), but in the end I wasn't willing to do the hard thing. I wasn't willing to go through all the blood, sweat and tears that one has to go through to get recognized in Hollywood. But sometimes the hard way is the only way to reach your goal. 

I look at this 365 day exercise challenge I have set up for myself and I wonder if I will be able to keep it up. I know there will be trying times to come. I am reconciled to those days that will test my resolve. But this time I won't let anything stop me.  Every other time I've tried to diet and get in shape it failed, and I realize now that it wasn't that I didn't want to reach my goal, I just wasn't willing to do the hard thing... exercise, exercise, exercise.

But it's been 8 days now that I have stuck to my promise, 8 days of daily exercise and watching what I eat. That is longer than I have ever stuck to a diet or exercise program in my life. And this time I think I just might do it. Is it hard? Yes. But for the first time in my life I am not going to look for the easy way out. I am going to embrace my daily exercise routine, even though it's hard. Trying to get fit the easy way doesn't work; hopefully doing it the hard way, the right way, will work for me.

Peace/Love,

Betsy

Day7: I Like Children...They Taste Just Like Chicken!

Okay, for anyone out there who is offended by today's title, please forgive me. I have a wicked sense of humor. I had to develop a personality and sense of humor because I didn't have the 'pretty girl' gene working for me. But I digress...


It was hot again today; hotter than Hades. Instead of going to the YMCA, Eric and I thought we'd take a swim in our very nice community pool across the street. We went late in the evening, an hour before closing, when we thought most of the crowd would have gone home. It was 7:30 p.m. and the outdoor thermometer still read 102 degrees. And there was still a fair amount of people in the pool, mostly kids.


I slipped out of my flip-flops and walked over to the shallow end of the pool and stepped into the water. Warm water. Bath water. Soup water. Well, I thought, it's still wet and I can get some laps in if I could shoo the kids out of the lap lane.


Eric and I began our slow laps, sidestroking our way to the other end of the pool. I was bothered by a long hair (not mine) that became tangled between my fingers. On my way back to the other side of the pool I encountered two separate pieces of clear plastic floating on top of the water. Then a rubber football and a diving mask. It was about that time when I realized that the water felt a bit gamy and the smell was off, too. It still smelled of chlorine, but there was an underlying smell of sweaty gym socks.


I looked around at the small children in the pool and I wondered how many of them had peed in the water today.  At that point I decided to get out of the pool and go home, trying to dismiss the vivid images from my mind. Tomorrow I go back to working out in the YMCA gym. I won't have to think about swimming until next weekend.


Peace/Love,
Betsy

Day 6: My Goal Is To Get Back To My Original Weight: 8 lbs. 5 oz.

We are in the middle of a heat wave here in central Maryland. Yesterday the temperature was 105 degrees. When it gets that hot, I think of swimming. Ever since I was a kid I've loved to swim. The feel of that cool, clear water on my skin is just too, too delicious.


But for the last twenty years I have denied myself the pleasure of a good swim because I thought I was too fat and ugly to show myself at our neighborhood swimming pool. I would laughingly say to friends that the sight of me in a bathing suit might scare the children. I joked that I had the ugliest legs in Christendom. I was afraid people would stare.


And to make the situation even worse was the fact that our neighborhood pool is virtually across the street from my home. I can watch the bathers from my deck. In the twenty years that we have lived in this community I have gone swimming in that pool maybe 3 times. That is, until last year. 


In May of 2009 I had a total knee replacement performed on my left knee. Physical therapy was mandatory and when I was finished with physical therapy, it was important, Dr. C. said, that I continue exercising that knee to keep those muscles toned. Swimming, he said was the perfect exercise, because there is zero impact on your joints. 


So once the 10" incision running from several inches above my knee to mid-calf healed over, I put on the brand new swimsuit I'd bought online and Eric and I headed over to the pool. I took off my sun dress and looked down at my new robo-knee. Dotted scars from the surgical staples running down either side of the scar gave it a Frankenstein-like feel. Talk about scaring the children!


Thankfully the pool had a stairway leading into the shallow end of the pool (something that the Olympic-sized pool at the Y unfortunately doesn't have). I eased myself in, relishing the cool water all over my skin. I walked over to the lap lane and slowly began to sidestroke to the other end of the pool. The sun glistened on the clear water and for the first time in months I was free from the pain accompanying my operated knee. Swimming became a peaceful meditation for me.


For the rest of the summer I spent at least 40 minutes a day in that pool. And yes, there were some children that noticed my scar and once I overheard a young women say to her friend that she would kill herself if she ever got as fat as I was. Wait until you hit your mid-50's, I thought, undeterred by her vicious remark. 


By the end of summer my knee was working just like a real knee should work. I was grateful to not have the pain I endured before the operation and even more grateful to not have the pain I endured after the operation (which was significant, don't let anyone fool you. Total knee replacement is not for sissies!)


Now it is summer of 2010 and I am exercising my right knee that was operated on in February. Swimming really is the best medicine, not only for it's kindness to the joints, but for the way it quiets the mind. For me, swimming has become a much needed time for reflection and meditation.


As we used to whisper to one another in the halls of my Catholic high school: Non illegitimi carborundum. Translated from Latin it means: Don't let the bastards get you down!


Peace/Love,


Betsy

DAY 5: Eat, Drink and Be Merry, For Tomorrow We Diet!

Five days into my self-imposed exercise incarceration and I'm still standing! Well, after a good nap and a shower I can stand...for a little while. Now I understand why they always say "Check with your doctor before starting any exercise regimen." Exercise is not for sissies! I think the rule should be that you should already be in shape before exercising to get into shape. 

I have exercised for five days in a row, longer than I have ever exercised in my life. Physical fitness wasn't a high priority in our household when I was growing up. There were no 'daycamps' for kids  back in the good ol' '60's, or at least there weren't any in our little town. Summers were spent at the Town Park Pool, not so much swimming as baking in the sun slathered with baby oil. And the occasional game of hide-and-seek or kick-the-can could hardly be considered exercise. 

On Saturday afternoons after summer was over, you could find just about every kid in town at the Beetles' Alhambra Theater watching a double feature of Gothic horror movies starring Vincent Price, Boris Karloff or Bela Lugosi. And everyone knows you need plenty of buttered popcorn, JuJuBees, Good and Plenty and Milky Way bars to get through that!

No one thought about the fat content of foods back then. My grandmother, an immigrant from Sicily and a fantastic cook, wouldn't know what to do if you took her olive oil away from her. Sunday dinner consisted of spaghetti and meatballs, topped with mounds of grated pecorino romano cheese and was the highlight of everyone's week. 

Then calorie counting became the latest thing and everyone carried around a calorie bible to check the calorie count of every possible morsel that went into their mouths. I remember my older sister Carmala introducing calorie counting to the family at one Sunday dinner. She knew the calorie count of everything and tried to convince everyone that calorie counting was the answer to keeping trim. The old-timers around the table, my grandmother, dad and aunts all poo-pooed the idea. "Just watch what you eat," my Aunt JuJu would say, "and don't eat too much. You don't have to do all that counting."

As it turns out, Aunt JuJu was right: she is now 80 years old, maybe 10 pounds more than she weighed 40 years ago, and has a boyfriend two years older than her. The two of them keep trim by going dancing every Saturday night. She still works as a hairdresser and goes up and down 14 very steep steps in her house more than several times a day. And her motto remains, "Just watch what you eat."

So I'm going to take a page from my Aunt JuJu's book and start watching what I eat. It's not that I don't know the good things to eat, I just intentionally never paid attention before. But today, five days into my exercise regime, I am not going to start dieting, but I am going to start watching with a very critical eye what I put into my mouth.

Betsy

Day 4: I THINK MY STRUGGLE TO GET FIT WILL ULTIMATELY KILL ME!

I just heard a rumor that one can actually get high from exercise. Supposedly, something called endorphins bind with the opiate receptors in the brain and reduce the sensation of pain and affect emotions. I've heard that long distance runners can get a 'runner's high.' I get a runner's high every time I stand up from a sitting position. Or maybe it's vertigo.

In any case, I've been at this exercise thing for four days now and I'm nowhere near being high. By the time I get home from my exercise workout at the Y, I can barely make it to the front door. I'm hot, sweaty and dog tired. And it doesn't help that it's about 99 degrees outside. 

It occurred to me that some of you may be wondering what my exercise routine entails. First, you should know that my personal belief is "moderation in all things" (except eating, but I'm working on that). I'm not one of those crazy exercise people, at least not yet, that have to do everything at full speed. No, I'm more laid back. Even though laying back is what got me into this sorry shape, but that's all in the past, right?

When I get to the gym I plug in my earphones, gear up my iPod and do ten minutes on a recumbent bike while listening to UB40; then I go over to the weight machines: I turn on some Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne or Shawn Colvin and proceed with the leg press, the leg lift, and two different arm machines; one exercises the front muscles of my arm and the other one exercises the back muscles of my arms. 

Then it's time to go crazy with some Motown on the treadmill. I can do about 10 minutes at 3.0 mph before I feel like I'm having a stroke (not really a stroke, but something like it). I know that doesn't sound like much of a workout, but keep in mind that I'm just starting and I am extremely out of shape and overweight. So gimme a break.

This is only day four of my insane idea of 365 days of exercise, and I'm hoping that as I continue it will get easier and I'll be able to go longer without feeling like I'm ready to cross over the River Styx. And about that supposed exercise high? I'm ready and eager anytime for those endorphins to kick in and do their thing!

Betsy

Day 3: I Didn't Know I Was Already Wearing The Ruby Slippers!

I was thinking about The Wizard of Oz during my workout at the Y today. As we find out at the end of the movie, Dorothy had the ability to go home whenever she wanted, as she was wearing The Ruby Slippers. (However, in my opinion, Glinda The Good Witch of the North could have clued Dorothy in on that secret code thing a lot sooner (i.e. click 3 times and say 'there's no place like home'). I mean, really, did Dorothy (and I!) really need to go through the Flying Monkeys ordeal? I still have nightmares...



But back to those slippers...it occurs to me that we are all wearing The Ruby Slippers; we just don't know it. All my life I've had the ability to get into shape but instead I made excuses. I never "watched" what I ate. My doctor asks me at every visit, "Are you watching what you eat?" and every time I want to say, "Yeah, I watch it as I bring the fork to my mouth." But instead I lie and say "yes."


It is so much easier to make an excuse as to why I can't  exercise, rather than just doing it. I tell myself that I have allergic asthma and exercise might trigger an attack. I lie to myself when I say that my allergy medicine makes me groggy (even though it says right on the box ('Non drowsy formula'). I tell myself I'll exercise later because right now I have a headache, or a stomachache, or an ass-ache. And on and on it goes, the lies, lies, lies and pound after miserable pound. 


Occasionally, I would get real and give myself a good talking to. But instead of facing the obvious, the oh, so tedious path of diet and exercise, I would set off on a quest for a magic bullet somewhere, something that I could just take every morning and the weight would miraculously fall off. I'm smart enough to know better than to fall for all those diet scams, but just dumb enough to put all my knowledge of diet and exercise aside and go for the quick fix.


That is, until three days ago. At the age of 56 I finally came to the realization that I was only hurting myself with these lies. I looked at a picture of me when I met my husband 30 years ago. I was cute! And sexy! I had curves in all the right places and legs that went all the way down to the floor.


And now I am doing the hard thing. Diet and exercise are not bad words and they are not trying to kill me. I am embracing them and hopefully one day they will embrace me back. As for now, we are just barely talking. But I'm the one with the ruby slippers and I know the secret code.


Betsy

Day 2: When Clothes Attack

Like I said yesterday, I hate clothes. Not all clothes, just my clothes. For years now I have been relegated to shopping for 'plus size' clothing. And I'm sick of it. I'm tired of trying to hide my fat. Oversized t-shirts and jeans that NEVER fit correctly. I was folding a basket of clean clothes the other day and picked up a pair of my khakis. I held them up and looked at the back of the pants. I thought to myself, your ass must look like the state of Texas in these: vast, big and wide.


And now it is the second day of my journey to fitness and I'm still happy that I've taken on this 365 day exercise marathon. I rolled on down to the Y around noon, rode the recumbent bike for 10 minutes, did the arm spinning thing for another 10 minutes and then walked briskly on the treadmill for 15 minutes.


Some of the weight machines looked familiar to me, as I had used a few of them while in physical theerapy for my knee. My new friend, Abdullah, wasn't around so I went to the office and asked a very nice young man named Johnny to help me with the weight machines.


I explained that I had knee surgery five months ago and told him I wanted to use equipment that would strengthen the muscles of my legs, particularly my knees. I also told him that I would like to strengthen my arm muscles, but I didn't want to come out of my 365 days of exercise looking like a female body builder (not that there's anything wrong with female body builders; it's just not a good look for me).


Johnny showed me around the various machines, giving me a quick lesson on each of them and informed me which muscle groups would be helped by this machine or that machine. It sounded great but I didn't retain a word of it. I was able to remember what he said about the two machines for my knees, but there were so many different arm machines, I couldn't even remember which one I was supposed to use first, second, then third. He saw my confusion from the other side of the gym and came over to help me figure it out one more time.


On that note, I can't say enough nice things about all of the staff that I've met at our YMCA. I can't believe I have lived here for the past 20 years and I'm just now finding out what a gem we have right in our midst.


I am beginning to think that I should remove the word 'exercise' from my profanity list; but diet is still right up there with the worst of them. And that's a topic for another day.


Betsy

Day 1: The Longest Journey Begins When Your Clothes Start Biting You

Today was the day that my bra broke the camel's back. You heard me. The BRA broke the proverbial camel's (that would be me) back. I hate bras. Today I basically hate anything made out of wearable fabric. It started this morning when I couldn't find a clean bra, so I went digging and found one in the back of my lingerie drawer. It was relegated to the back of the drawer because I never wore it; and the reason I never wore it was because the last time I tried it on it was too big, which is not a state I often find myself in.  It's hard to find a bra too big for me because I am what you might call 'well-endowed.' Very, very well-endowed. Too well-endowed for comfort.


But today, the bra that was formerly too big for me not only fit, but my 'cups runneth over,' if you get my drift. Okay, I said to myself, don't panic. So I've gained a few pounds in the past several months. It's understandable. I had a total knee replacement only 5 months ago. I was doing all of my knee exercises to strengthen the muscles that the surgeon had to rip apart to get my titanium robo-knee in place, but that wasn't aerobic exercise and didn't do much for the rest of my body that was already in less than perfect shape.


All morning and into the early afternoon I was miserable. The bra band was too tight, digging into the flesh below my boobs. The hook and eye closures, all FIVE of them were poking and scratching my back, and the bra straps were digging into my shoulders.


Now, when I thought up the idea to write this blog (about 5 minutes ago), I promised myself that I would not use profanity, lest I offend any of my readers. But already I feel the  need to use two very bad words, so I hope you, dear reader, will forgive me. Those two words are DIET and EXERCISE. Oh, I want to wash my mouth out with soap! I am sure that I will have to use those words again during my postings, so if you are offended by those words, I understand.


Anyway, I'm sitting at my computer this morning, feeling like a stuffed sausage and feeling sorry for myself while wondering if there was any ice cream in the freezer. Then it hit me. I had two choices: I could take off the torture bra and spend this day and every other day in my nightgown, or I could do something about it. And believe me, this was not the first time I came upon this realization. But today something just snapped. I thought of the movie Network and the scene where the guy says, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!" 


I realized that the only way, the ONLY way out of my prison of fat was to face the two things I hated most in life: diet and exercise. And you can add sweat to that list. Smelly, sticky sweat. I hate that, too. 


I already have a membership to the YMCA that I use on Saturdays when I go swimming with my husband Eric. Last March, as our 30th wedding anniversary was approaching, we talked about what we each wanted to give each other as an anniversary gift. We couldn't think of anything, after 30 years of anniversary gifts you sort of run out of ideas. My knee surgeon suggested swimming as therapy for my knee surgery recovery, so I suggested we buy a family membership to the YMCA.


It turns out that the YMCA is a whole lot more than just a swimming pool. There are all different sorts of classes and our Y has a fantastic gym with all kinds of equipment. I wasn't quite at the point in my recovery to use the recumbent bike or treadmill, so I stuck to swimming. And although it helped my knees, it wasn't helping me get the rest of my body in shape. 


So I'm feeling sorry for myself, mad at letting myself get into this condition, when I remembered a saying that I had read somewhere: "If you can't change something, then change the way you think about it." It might have been a Mary Engelbreit card or Plato, I can't remember.


I got up, went upstairs and put on the ugliest exercise outfit you've ever seen, let the dogs out for a pee and off I went. I grabbed two CD's on my way out the door, not paying attention to the artist and stuck one into my car's CD player. It was The Eagles "Hell Freezes Over" CD. The first song, the very first song was "Get Over It." Great rock and roll melody and a symbolic shot in the arm for my new conquest. 


I've had these bursts of enthusiasm before. I get religious about diet and exercise, and within 3 days I'm back to my old ways, defeated and depressed at failing once again to get myself into shape. That's when I came up with my plan of 365 days of exercise. I'm starting with just the exercise, I'll tackle diet another day. And today is the first day of my plan. (You thought I was going to say 'Today is first day of the rest of my life,' didn't you?) 


The Frederick, Maryland YMCA gym is big and clean and full of all kinds of equipment. (However, I think I saw a contraption that looked very similar to the torture rack I saw on The Tudors!) 


I didn't know where to start so I asked if there was someone who could help me. "The man in the red t-shirt," I was told. The man in the red shirt, a nice fellow of Middle East origin, showed me over to the recumbent bike and then suggested I use this arm thing, I don't know what it's called, but it's like a spinning class just for arms. I'll find out what it's called and let you know in a later post. While I was 'arm spinning,' I asked the man in the red t-shirt where he was from. He had a distinctive accent but I couldn't place it, and I'm usually good at that sort of thing. 


"I am from the land of God," he said. 


I thought he said 'land of the gods,' so I replied, "Greece?" He looked at me like the nincompoop that I felt like. 


"No," he said, "God's land. We are all from everywhere." 


Oh, I get it, he didn't want to tell me where he was from. A sad reminder of man's abilty to stereotype and ostracize others who aren't like them. 


"I ask only because you look Sicilian. I am of Sicilian heritage and have traveled there many times. And I've written a book about my travels."


We talked a bit more, mostly about how beautiful the Mediterranean is, when he sat down on the bike next to me. "I am from Iran," he said tentatively, watching my face for any sort of disagreeable expression. "My name is Abdullah."


I shook his hand and introduced myself. "My husband has been to Iran," I said, "he said it was beautiful and the people were very kind and generous."


"When was he there?" Abdullah asked.


"It was a long time ago," I said, "he was teenager in the mid-70's and he went there with his father who was working in Saudi Arabia at the time."


"Ah," he said, "when the Shah was in power."


We talked a little bit more, I told him about my trips to Sicily and visiting my grandparents hometown. He was called away by another member needing assistance and I made my way over to the treadmill.


I had been exercising, albeit at a slow to moderate pace, for 50 minutes. I think that's the longest I have ever exercised in my life. And I felt good. Hot and sweaty, but good. 


I drove home, feeling quite satisfied with myself. I got a cold drink, took a shower and had a salad. All in all, I would say my first day of my 365 day exercise marathon went quite well.


I am actually looking forward to tomorrow.