I Hate You, 5 a.m.

Good Evening, Readers,

Since I have nothing better to do while my professor rambles on, I figured it would be a good time to write.  (No worries, I'm partially listening to him).  Something about shipping transit time, inventory, objective. . . .meh. . . .no matter.

So, I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. to spend an hour working out.  5 AM!!!  That's no small feat for me.  Usually the alarm goes off at 5:45, and I hit snooze about 17 times before I finally roll off the bed and stumble into the shower in a sleepy, incoherent fashion.  Or my husband will shut the alarm off the first time, and I forget that I was suppose to get up, and then panic sets in when I open my eyes and it's 6:15, and I need to leave at 6:30!  But I digress.  So, as I said - 5 a.m. this morning is when I got up.

I got dressed in my workout clothes and tromped downstairs to the basement.  I did NOT want to do this.  Every little part of my being just wanted to go back to bed.  I stretched and turned on the treadmill.  The sound of it starting just made me want to kick it.  I powered up my music to get myself pumped (thank you, Pandora), and onto the motorized belt I went.  I began with a brisk walk and after about 10 minutes at this pace, I began to jog.  After about 25 minutes of jogging I hopped off the treadmill.  Sweat was pouring into my eyes, but I felt pretty amazing - and energized.  I finished up upstairs with some crunches (ow, STILL, by the way several hours later).

It's amazing to me how reluctant we, as human beings, can be to take care of our bodies.  When you think about it, you only get one of these (unless, of course, your rich enough to get yours altered).  I am not one of those lucky bastards.  I use to LOVE working out.  I use to do it religiously just before I met my husband.  Everyday.  After we met, I was pregnant pretty much for 2 years straight.  We exercised together for a while in the middle again - and then stopped.  Then a year a half ago, I picked a regimen back up, but after I started my Bachelor's Degree, again, I stopped.  Why?  When did taking care of myself like I should become an on-again/off-again type of romance?  I have made a concious decision that I cannot keep doing that.  I need to take better care of myself.  It should be a habit, really.

With that being said; 5 a.m., I hate you so much, but I will see you again tomorrow.