Today, for the second week in a row, I am signed up for my gym's "urban rebounding" (read: mini-trampoline) class.
Today, for the second week in a row, I am not going to my gym's "urban rebounding" class.
Last week sucked. I forgot my metro card and got to the subway before realizing I had no cash and no way to get there. (The class is held at a nearby branch that is not within walking distance.)
Today, I had a crummy night of sleep and woke up in the middle of the night with stomach cramps. I actually did get back to sleep and then woke up this morning, put my clothes on, and basically dawdled long enough that it's now too late to get to the class on time. I think that was my subconscious doing me a solid, as I haven't been feeling with it all week and I'm not really up for high intensity this morning. Yoga, maybe, but jumping around would probably bring the bad back, quickly.
I promise that next week I'll go back to my regularly scheduled blogging about exercising, and there will be no more excuses. My bad week has coincided nicely with some of the worst weather of the year, though.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"