Four fifty-five comes early. A little bit, or a lot a bit, early by my way of thinking. Darkness, like a cloak, still covers the world when we leave the house. Fortunately, the bitter cold of deep winter is in the rear view mirror as the car pulls out of the driveway.
“Day 3,” I muse, “Why did I ever agree to this?”
One part desire to get in shape, I guess. Two parts, love. That I do know. My two grown sons who have returned through the revolving door to our home after college, asked me, or hinted really, to join them in going to the gym in the morning. What grown-up, young men want their mom to go with them to a gym? Not too many. So, of course, I had to say yes.
So, when I hear the buzz of the alarm, I drag my sorry bones out of bed and slip on my exercise clothes, all laid out nice and neat in the bathroom. Opening the bedroom door as quietly as possible, I attempt not to waken my husband who still slumbers peacefully in bed.
“Have fun,” comes the gravely voice, in spite of my best efforts.
“I will. Thanks,” I reply. Well, I thought he was still asleep.
Down the stairs I go.
“Hi, Barbs! Ready to go?”