Over the past three days or so, I’ve gained a better understanding of why women of my age (the specifics of which is an irrelevant detail) lose track of their gym passes and the will to fight the good fight on personal fitness.
I’m nowhere near quitting. I’ve done this for too long and believe that exercise tones a lot more than my body. It smooths out the rough spots in my emotions; it gives me spiritual muscle for Life’s considerable challenges. It gains me “thinking time,” enhancing my sense of perspective. It makes me smile more and wrinkle less.
But wow. I get it. This past week as I scrambled between back-to-back soccer games, track meets, practices for the aforementioned and “odds and ends” that included guitar lessons and daily school transportation, work-out time kept sidling a couple of steps beyond my grasp. Forget the grocery (I did). Forget the laundry (wish I could but soccer socks require hazmat removal if not laundered within three days). Forget taxes (yeah, right), a social life (sigh) and recreational reading (sigh again). It’s a crazy, but oh-so-normal life. I know this.
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