Kimmie and I made a pact that we'll do at least 20 minutes of cardio each day. I did 30 minutes on the treadmill tonight, after dinner, while doing little arm exercises with my 2 lb. weights, and I ran at least 10 of those minutes. I'm so proud of me!
Stop laughing at me. Baby steps, dammit.
It felt good. Like, really good. I got in a zone; no music or TV or book, just me, the weights, the conveyor beneath my feet, and that spot over there on the wall. Breathing was easy, even when I was running - I could FEEL 2 weeks of no cigarettes, and it felt good.
When my 30 minutes was up, before I showered (because I got sweaty!), I took a good, long, hard look at my naked self in the mirror.
Holy crap, when did I let myself get this way?
I'm tempted to take a picture, once a week or so, to chart my progress, but then what if the computer got stolen and someone hacked into it and found the pictures and it turned out the person who stole it was someone who knew me and secretly hated me and so they posted all the pictures all over the internet and then everyone had seen my shame and OMG the HORROR!!! Of course, if I did go through with taking the pics, I'd totally intend to post them in the internet eventually, with all the naked lady bits covered by a big black bar, of course, but only after I had worked out like a madwoman for months and had a crazy-awesome AFTER picture to put up right there next to the embarrassing BEFORE (now) one. Realistically, you should be thankful I've got an unnatural fear of being burglarized.
That's another thing that contributes to my crazy - I'm always afraid someone's going to break in and steal our shit. The second year we were living in Shelby Park (a used-to-be-way-ghetto-but-now-it's-coming-around-thanks-to-church-folk-moving-in neighborhood on the outskirts of Old Louisville), on the Monday before Thanksgiving, I came home for lunch in the early afternoon and found that some lovely soul had thrown a brick through our kitchen window. The thief stole a couple of computers and cell phones, Jimi's Dad's shotgun, and my sense of security and safety in my own home. Until we moved from that house, I never again came home without thinking "I wonder if someone's broken in again?" Our buddy Steve had moved in just a block and a half away, and his home was broken into nearly half a dozen times in as many weeks. I didn't like leaving the house much after all that. I don't worry about it so much since we've moved, but it's still there, in the back of my mind, like a little tickle.
Jimi's watching some jacked up movie about genetically modified vampire cows that are self-impregnating while still in the womb. Netflix has opened up a whole new world for us.
I fear for the fate of my treadmill. As I've mentioned, the thing is ancient, but it works. It started to smell toward the end of my workout tonight - a burning belt-like smell. I told Jimi I'll be glad if it just gets me through the winter - get me to Spring-time, when I can run in the warm in the park. If it goes out, I'll be forced to either brave the cold or utilize that gym membership Jimi's been carrying for me for 2 years now - the one I've never used, not even once. I have a feeling that I'm going to end up at the gym.
I haven't had my camera out in days. I'm hoping to wake up to a foot and a half of snow on the ground, or that maybe that much will at least fall over the course of the next few days - that would give me plenty to photograph. Of course, that's wishful thinking and reality will probably bring us only a light dusting, but that will do, also; I can accept a dusting, if I must - I'll take pictures of it too.
Seriously, this movie is ridiculous. Monster vag-eating slimy fetus cow creatures. Isolation, is what this thing is called. It's whack, yo. I can't believe I'm watching this crap before bed - I'm going to have awesome dreams.
On that note, sleep tight, my friends, and don't let the cow fetuses bite. :)