A few nights ago some women (circa high school grad; 1985) met for dinner and conversation. I was amazed and inspired to hear that three out of the six women present had a disturbing habit of rising with (or before) the sun and hitting the elements for some hard core cardio.
I was duly impressed. All that discipline. Muscle. Anti-flub proactivity. All that energy- producing, happiness promoting endorphin production.
My husband is of equal baffling persuasion; having been known to swim one hundred laps at the pool before breakfast for years on end.
This morning at 6:00 am, he convinced me to accompany him and the dog on an early morning walk. I didn't want to. I didn't even want to be vertical, never mind mobile. But I did it; thinking that I wouldn't mind experiencing that energy rush and that positive chemical reaction. Seemed like an excellent way to approach a new week. I had often engaged in daydreams and fantasies about being one of those people and I suspected that actually starting was an important element of the process.
I felt ill.
My feet hurt where the callouses on my heels were beginning to crack. My eyes hurt. My arms felt weak. My toes felt pinched. The sense of fatigue was as yucky as when my babies insisted on nursing at the most inconvenient of times.
Almost four hours later- absolutely no change. I feel like I walked across town on my eyeballs.
Dinner and conversation I can do; but beyond that I may just settle for the cheering section when it comes to my early morning heroes. I'm pretty sure that produces a lot more feel good endorphins...