The Joke.

And it was.  A joke.  That’s how it started anyway.  That day in January when Sara and I made a pact to get healthy and start exercising regularly.  That was the first part of the joke.  Neither of us were motivated enough to get the other to exercise consistently.  SARA:  “You wanna get together after school today and do that sit-up tape I have?”  ME: “Naaaa.”  SARA:  “Ok.  Talk to you tomorrow.”  It was laughable.

ME:  “Maybe we should sign up for The Lake Run.  Perhaps that will motivate us.”  This.  This was the second part of the joke and quite possibly the punch line.  Sara laughed.  She laughed hard.  We both laughed.  You know that laugh.  The “I’M PEEING IN MY PANTS” laugh.  It was pretty funny.  At that point the farthest I had ever run was, literally, to the bathroom.

Fast forward two weeks to a Pampered Chef party and a group of cackling women.  There it was again.  The Lake Run joke. Oh how we all laughed.  Our Pampered Chef lady did not laugh.  She had already signed up and had begun her training.  We laughed at her too but somehow, by the time everyone was parting ways, we had all jokingly agreed to do it together.  By the end of the week I had told everyone that would listen about my joke and before I knew it, 15 women (and a Pastor :-) jokingly agreed to do it too. 

Not wanting to be out done by any of my friends and for fear of ending up as the butt end of the joke on D-Day, I knew I needed to begin MY training right then!  

There is a treadmill in the basement.  That treadmill and I parted ways more than a year ago.  It was ugly.  I’m pretty sure I used a few four letter words and not so nice hand gestures the last time I was down there.   To begin my training, I had to befriend that old nemesis of mine.  So I descended the stairs armed with my Swiffer duster, a can of WD-40 and waiving a white flag.

(….to be continued.)