Exercise does a body good.

 A few weeks ago I dusted off the bike. Kicked the tires and noticed they were flat. Smiled winningly at my husband so he'd air them up. He did. I strapped on my helmet and went for a bike ride. A glorious, wonderful, heart-pounding, sweaty bike ride. 

I felt alive. 

Growing up I wasn't much for exercise. Sure, I did the required P.E. in school, and I did summer softball, one season of basketball, and a few years of softball in high school (if you can call warming the bench "playing ball"). But outside of that, nothing. In college I gained some weight. After I got married I gained some more. At some point I decided enough was enough and started tracking my calories and exercising three days a week. I lost fifty pounds. I did mini-triathlons. I rode my bike instead of driving. I incorporated fitness into my life. 

In the past several years I've traded exercise time for writing time. The trade-off was necessary, but now it's time to get back on the exercise horse. I've agreed to run a marathon relay next April, and so this seems like a perfect time to get off my butt and work up to running eight miles.  We only live once. Sneaking in a little bit of fitness into each day will help ensure that life lasts a little longer. If I try to talk myself out of my workout I will remember how alive and invigorated and capable I feel afterwards. That should work to get me out the door. Oh, and the promise of ice cream after. That should work, too.