Twenty six days and counting
When one embarks on any sort of daily regimen of exercise, diet, writing or otherwise — or what I call the daily something, some days feel great and others are to put it charitably, “tougher” than others.
At best, one feels something a kin to a “glow” of self-satisfaction for having put in the work and effort while basking in what feels like tangible results. At worst, however, is that feeling of being in the mud having worked and worked without getting anywhere — and maybe even losing some ground.
Like any annoying Pollyanna, my response is to say focus on the bright-side, but when one has schlepped oneself day after day to some activity, or to the discipline of say, no chocolate except on Saturdays and the scale looks back with numbers on the wrong side of the goal, that is small solace.
To put it more plainly, when one is my age, a later rather than sooner 50-something, a scale that tips the wrong way feels like a miserable defeat! Inevitably (with a pardon to the youngsters out there) it becomes one of those “shut-up” moments when the whole hot flashing, weight fluctuating, mood altering, welcome to crone-hood stuff comes crashing down in a giant, “G-d damn-it” because in my world it means I can’t find my glasses again to even keep the awful number on the scale in focus.
That’s when my other, less grumpy, too cheerful for her own good self makes an appearance and screams out “suck-it up!”
Let’s face it, 26 days of a daily something is an amazing achievement — and what’s meaningful is the “and counting” part of it. So whether it’s shadow boxing before dawn, writing a poem a day or blogging about it, or any of the myriad of great things we all work hard to achieve, congratulations to you for even trying.