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I have good intentions, really I do.  And I have lots of excuses, too, in case you were wondering.  I want to eat well and drink plenty of water and stay on top of my workouts.  And I want to be able to do all that, even while maintaining that prime slot of time for the Lord each morning.

But the truth is, I am tired.  My body has been through the ringer over the past two years and I am mostly in denial about the fact that this is a slow process.  Most mornings it’s a challenge just to get out of bed.  Last week, the doctors ruled out cancer.  That’s a big plus the way I see things.  With a treatment plan well under way for what they didn’t rule out, it’s time to take myself in hand and get healthy again.

First things first.  I’m a Coke addict.  It’s the legal kind of Coke, though I’m not sure it should be.  That stuff is pure poison in a pretty red-labeled bottle.

Enter my husband.  He’s typically such a nice guy who spoils me rotten and dotes on me like a princess.  So there was absolutely no warning when he went all psycho on me and emptied the house of my Coke stash.  I mean, seriously, I wasn’t drinking the stuff.  I hadn’t touched it in almost two weeks.  But it brought me such comfort to know it was there if I wanted it.  Like an old friend you don’t speak to for months and then you just pick right up where you left off.

Well, apparently that was exactly the kind of friendship my husband was trying to break-up.  I caught him sneaking off the other morning at 4am for his shift at the station with my precious Coke in hand.

“I’m removing temptation for you”  he said.

“I want to support you in this” he said.

I said, “I don’t want support.  I want my Coke.”  He smiled and walked to his car.


So with nearly two weeks of no Coke under my belt, I’m passed the headaches and crazy withdrawal.  And I knew it was time to step up the workouts.  I made a goal to walk 30 minutes 5 days a week in the month of June.  Well, it’s not even June yet but…enter my son.

He’s passed me in inches, determination and effort.  He puts me to shame pretty much every single day yet I still love him.  Until, that is, he tells me he’s going to start running with me and I see that glint in his eye.  Because he’s a machine who never seems to tire and who seems to thrive on torturing his legs and lungs.  And mine.

I’ve been down this road before, running with this maniac.  So when he showed up in my room at dawn this morning, I knew there was nothing to do but lace up my shoes and strap on my smile.  I thought maybe if I smiled he’d be nicer to me.  Wrong.

Anyway, I am back now having survived 3 miles of interval running torture.  Actually, if I’m being perfectly honest, it wasn’t that bad.  He let me walk the monster hill that called out threats to me as I began to make my ascent.  I’m smart enough to know when to back down and it seemed wise to proceed with caution so as not to make it (or my poor lungs) angrier.

Three miles in thirty minutes only to arrive home to a still sleeping house.  My drill-sargaent son turned back into his sweet self, and we enjoyed a time of spiritual refreshing as we each met with the Lord from our own couches in the cozy living room.

Not a bad start to the day.  How about you?  What are you up to today?