Benefits of Leaving a Warm Bed for the Exercise Ball

I braved the wintry weather this morning - it fell yesterday, leaving North Carolinians stranded in the momentous one inch of snow. I got in my little car, and drove down the barely iced but rumored to be treacherous streets when the sun had not yet risen. Why? I wanted to be true to my word. I have always told people that if I could just get up, I'd rather go to the gym in the morning. You get it out of the way, there are less people hogging the machines, and it leads to a more productive day, I would tell them. This was spoken from experience of having done such a thing - drive to the gym pre-sunrise - about once, ever, in my life. But since 2005 is the year I've turned 27, am going to make something important of myself, and get married, too, I decided it's time to take on the challenge. Needless to say, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was, waking up at 6, minus the lack of sunlight. I don't mind getting up early, but it always seems a bit wrong to be driving around with a sweatband on and track pants before the stars have dispersed or the morning birds have begun to sing. Who do you think you are? A gymnast with Olympic dreams? Sleep has always been more important to me, as I'm just getting in shape for my own vanity. I must admit though, it has been a good day. And after my struggle on the elliptical machine and attempting and failing to use the bicep curl instrument (luckily that incident was viewed only by a few others up at that hour), I walked out into a still grey but lightening morning sky and nothing open but the coffee shop a few doors down. Ah, I thought, this is how it should be. I plan to make more morning gym trips. It's not all talk. This is my year. Next time I might even stop for coffee.

Understanding One Another

MVC-001L Originally uploaded by caramaria.

Cecilia has chosen, finally, to sit in the front entryway, chewing, then spitting out, a small, muddy leaf. Her preferred action for this morning, however, has been to sit by my desk and whine. I don't know if it because she is bored, because she is hungry or thirsty or worried. Maybe she misses her brother, or mother. In a valiant attempt to get to the heart of it, I had one of those pathetic "conversations" with her. Dog owner talking to dog. My mother used to ask if I wanted to talk to our dear old poodle, Ziggy, when I'd call from college. "Here he is," she'd say. And I, embarrassed, would quietly talk, voice raised, "Hey Zig. Hey doggy." You never know when the phone has gone back to the ear of the more appropriate person. Person. People talk on phones. "I think he heard you! He cocked his head," my mother would exclaim. Whether the dog knew my voice we'll never know. I do realize dogs don't understand. But nevertheless, upon looking into Cecilia's soulful eyes, listening to her pathetic whines, I asked her, "What's wrong girl?" "Do you need to go out? Are you tired? Lay down. Lay down! The office is fun. Offices are fun for doggies. I know. I know Cecilia. Look! Look! Here'a a picture of you when you were a baby. Look Cecilia! A baby!" She scoffed at my photo, carefully placed on my bulletin board, a reminder of when she was small, and my immediate plans were to cast her off on another adoptive parent. I'm glad I didn't. Cecilia didn't care much for the photo. She licked it, whined again. "Why don't you get it?" she seemed to ask. Why? An affectionate pat on the head, she thumped down on the thin carpet. For now, that's enough.