I went on a little jog today.
It was cold, and I seriously considered not going, even as I was pulling on my workout clothes and lacing up my shoes. I thought of a lot of really good reasons to stay inside in the warmth and spend my time doing something else. But in the end, I walked out the door and I ran to the end of our street (a distance of about four blocks), and then turned around and came back.
I couldn’t run the entire distance. I wanted to, but my lungs and legs weren’t cooperating, and I’m out of shape.
The coming together of muscles and oxygen and willpower started to work inside me though, and the beauty of a little thing called pride started to blossom and the excitement of it reminded me of a thing I once knew – that it feels good to exercise.
The sweetness of that blossom came like the ebb and flow of a tide, something I could grasp just long enough to want more before it moved once again out of reach, pulled away by the reality of how difficult it is to move 190 pounds down the street. Not easy. But I won’t dwell on that.
Small steps are still steps. A jog down the street and back is still a workout. Energy exerted is still calories burned.