No alarm rings to get me out of bed. I could never understand why people would want to be brought back to consciousness by a loud sound that in a state of half wakefulness could brings to mind a smoke detector, a school buzzer or an air raid siren. Somehow I wake up at about the same time every morning -- with a little help from my cat jumping on my dresser and knocking glass objects on the floor in an attempt to tell me she was ready to eat.
Once out of bed, I run to the bathroom, throw water on my face, put on my sneakers and head for the door.
Keeping to an exercise routine takes commitment and time -- so I guess I'm already behind the eight ball there. I wear my workout clothes to bed each night to reduce the risk that the thought of getting dressed will be reason enough for me to skip my walk.
I wrestle with my conscience (which I consider exercise in itself) -- imagining myself gaining 10 pounds, having to buy larger clothes and not being able to eat what I like during the day because I'm counting calories.. I'm an eclectic eater -- one day an order of french fries and ice cream is my lunch of choice. Other days, I'll eat one of those frozen steamer bags of brussels sprouts all by myself with a bottle of Naked Spirulina drink. Talk about needing simethicone and a larger waistband...
Heading down the driveway, I think about plugging my ears with music -- half for the beat to keep my pace from falling to the speed of the government processing my tax return and half to block out the sound of the traffic along my morning route. But today I choose to listen to walk without them in an attempt to hear some of the more pleasant sounds of Spring.
When Spring comes around, when others anticipate the beauty of tulips and daffodils, I wait to see the young maple leaves turn into skeletal versions of their former selves falling apart to the rhythmic sound of caterpillar poop falling from the sky. May showers don't bring Spring flowers in my neighborhood -- they bring tar colored slop onto the pavement -- turning walkways into a quagmire of banana peel like surfaces -- hazardous to postal workers and UPS delivery people everywhere.
I make my way through the traffic, avoiding the small, green worms hanging from the trees by silken strings -- creating the effect of a hideous chandelier. The breeze brings with it an odd combination of lilacs and cat urine (the smell of the wet caterpillar excrement). Families walk past me with worms in their hair and kids flailing their arms over their head in an attempt to ward off the inchworms and crying, "Watch out lady! There's bugs in that tree!"
Potholes are everywhere. Small mounds of asphalt crumbs and road substrate from the Revolutionary War make its way to the surface through these endless caverns in the road. Each small rock around the crater finds its way into the ridges in the bottom of my sneakers. I know these spaces are meant to help walkers grip the ground, but mine help my shoes turn into Fred Flintstone's roller skates. Every step adds new stones to my shoes making it sound like I'm wearing golf shoes by the time I take my final turn back into my driveway.
The last moments of my relaxing morning constitutional are used to remove the twenty rocks from the bottom of my shoes with my house key and carefully pick all the worms from my hair using my warped reflection in the storm door. One final swig from my water bottle and I'm ready to face my day.
What day is today? Oh great. I forgot I have a conference call with our China factory at 9:00. I'm going to be late. What about my Egg McMuffin?
No comments:
Post a Comment