Yay, Or Who Am I To Know What I Need

I got back in touch with an old friend from college yesterday and we've been pelting eachother with emails like it's a snowball fight. Now that the flurry is dying down, I wondered rather stupidly -- did I ask for this? Did I need this? I know I never sat in meditation and said "Hey, universe, can you make sure so-and-so gets my email address?" But another little window of joy in my heart just creakily slid open, so I'm just going to say yay.

Another thing. I was writing my friend about recent travels and I found myself saying "You know, we go to San Francisco every year to visit family and friends and after that it's hard to travel anywhere. Well, we do visit family at the Jersey Shore every year. And in Vermont. And last year we stayed on a houseboat in Paris for two weeks, but that was just an opportunity that came up to celebrate my friend's birthday."

Here I am, judging my own fantastic experiences, because they just sort of happened to me as opposed to me getting to plan them. I'm complaining about my own serendipity; I'm complaining about my good fortune; I'm complaining about, perhaps, the gifts I'm being given by the universe.

I'm like this with everything. It is very stupid. I shall stop now.

And should you ever get to stay in a houseboat on the Seine, pack sweaters and cough syrup, it gets bone crushingly cold at night. Sometimes the heat won't work and then the most gorgeous strapping blond electrician in the known universe will show up on his moped and fix it for you, which ain't so bad. Oh, and also, enjoy every damn minute of it.

#4: Help me to keep my eyes open to the gifts i'm being given, or, Duh.

I reviewed the last entry and mentally smacked myself in the forehead, which by the way still smarted just a bit.

I'm overweight. I'm just overweight enough to not be clinically obese, but I'm too damn overweight. I've made several attempts to lose it. Methods have ranged from by burning calories by complaining to smaller portions of dinner without changing much else.

This time I'm on an actual diet and actually exercising and by exercising I don't mean the ten sun salutations I slog through every so often. I mean running.

Encouragement from my best friend to go to the gym has helped as has general advice from my husband, a former college track runner whose primary nicknames were 'Legs' and 'Tiger'. Both of which are hot, and both of which I must start calling him again immediately, come to think of it.

The thing that tipped the scales for me was my son's pediatrician. Who by the way is tiny and cute and a wonderful doctor and if he would let me I'd put him in my pocket and have him live there.

When my son was first born I was scared I'd pass on some of my lesser traits to him (depression, asthma, addicition to Molly Ringwald movies). The asthma was the big fear, because having it as a kid terrified me. On any given day, you just suddenly can't breathe.

When I talked to Pocket Doctor about it he gave me some nutritonal advice and things to look for but the best thing he said to me personally was this: There's really no such thing as exercise induced asthma. You get that when you've never been toned or trained properly to be active (hmm, that's me), and then are forced to be too active (my high school gym teachers, who addressed everything from your period to a broken leg with "Stick a FIST in it! Walk it OFF!").

So, in the last couple of weeks I've determined that the time is at hand to get in control of my health and weight. The biggest motivator is honestly that my son is quite the climber, and I don't want to be the parent watching him be active from the sidelines and wishing I had the strength to do it myself. Cause that's lame.

And also so, I spoke to a total stranger yesterday who told me several ways that he works out dilligently and takes care of himself that he does so because he wants to live and is lucky to have had the chance to live.

Duh.

And so last night, I went out for a run. And I laughed the entire time.

Until tomorrow.