Friday, 25 February 2011

Reclaiming Self

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

It is our 8 month anniversary and the eve of our ‘real’ honeymoon.  It seems a fitting moment to discuss how, while also honing my Nigella/Donna Reed skills, I am also working to reclaiming myself a bit. 
I don’t want to get too deep here.  After two rounds of counselling and two graduate degrees if I examine my life too closely I get stuck in a ‘but why?’ spiral that ends in a lot of red wine, ice cream, and bath bubbles (and not in the good way).  But I do want to talk a little bit about how I am trying to reclaim myself a little after two major life accomplishments changed the plan. 
The first was my PhD.  I have known I was going to do this since about 2000.  I decided to become a Geography professor when I was an undergrad.  To do that I needed a PhD.  10 years later I have the PhD but am no closer to being a Geography professor.  I was closer 5 years ago when I was lecturing part-time with only an undergrad degree (I was revising my Master’s after ‘failing’ my defence the first time through).   Now that I am at the other end of the process, I realize that the part-time lecturing was exactly what I wanted.  None of the distinction, but all of the fulfilment.  I could fly under the radar and actually teach and connect with students and affect their futures.  One of my students from back then is now getting his PhD and every time I see his email on the International Critical Geography Listserv I feel a surge of pride for my student.  In the process of getting to the point of being able to be a Professor of Geography, to getting to the distinction of 'Doctor,' I lost the fulfillment and what I loved about teaching Geography.   
The second was my marriage.  As I have said before, I never thought I would get married until 5 years and 8 months ago.  Pete and I meeting in that campground in Zimbabwe and falling in love on the way to Nairobi, while claimed by my dear friend and travelling partner, Magen, makes me believe in a power greater than myself.  This was not part of my plan.  It was inconvenient and messy and complicated and I have never once questioned it.  I knew.  I just knew it was the right choice for me, whatever came of it.  And the results have been incredible.  This unexpected life accomplishment has assisted me in crossing off a number of my life list items (all travel minus Africa, the PhD, living abroad, falling in love, even riding an elephant in the circus; basically everything but working at National Geographic).  But more important than that, it has given me strength I didn’t know I had.  It hasn’t been easy.  At times it has been incredibly painful dealing with the uncertainty of our future and the distance from our extended family and friends.  At times it took so much work that I stopped putting myself first (in the good way).  My health got worse, not dangerously in any sense of the word, but a downward slope was beginning to form.  My identity was lost a bit as we built a joint identity and team in an effort to cope with our geographical isolation. 
So now I am working to reclaim bits of myself that have got lost along the way, but which I really loved and gave me strength.  It starts with small things.  A particular found ring (not that one) that somehow got buried in the jewellery box, but that fits perfectly.  A haircut that reminds me of a version of myself that was too young and stupid to have fear.  A song that pushed me to action.  And a blog that reminded me that I used to be a writer. 

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Running Thoughts

It’s Tuesday Fit-Day.  A weekly meditation on fitness goals, successes and failures.  Thinking about it once a week is a step toward making it a part of everyday.

*deep breath*  Here we go. 
“Everybody cut, everybody cut.”
Oohh a penny!
Chinese food smells good.
Damn bus!!
Cardboard dollhouse is colored in today. 
Fishy smell.  Sun feels good today.  This song goes on forever. 
Oh no, uphill.  Puke, Puke, Puke.
OOHH! JT-Madonna! Keep going.

ARIEL: Who are you? We don't run!
SADIE: Not when we were dancing regularly and had some bizarro metabolism that ignored fast food and alcohol.  We do now.  Just wait til you see yourself after 10 years of on-off graduate school. 

Camper van still there.  Foggy windows. 
McDonald party at the rubbish bin in front of the Recycling Centre.
Pussy Willows.
Round the corner, lean in like a motorcycle.
Uphill, Puke.
Round again, UGH this sucks!! “Oh, we’re have way there. OH, OH living on a prayer.”
Still Fishy.  Runner up ahead. Smile or not?  Nod.  I got a Nod.  Serious Runner Girl thinks I’m a runner. Score! 
Uphill again, crap, karma's a bitch.
Pussy Willows!
It never ends.  Why am I doing this?  Slinky Silver Dress. 

ARIEL: Really?! When did we become this person that changes ourselves for a dress? 
SADIE: Approximately six months before we got married.  You haven't seen this dress. Nothing wrong with being healthy if there is a sparkly slinky dress in the equation.

I want to die!!!  Because we can, can, can. Everybody Can Can.”
Circus Semis! *Smile* Damn the circus semis!! “Can’t stand it. I know you planned it.”
Almost there.  Round the corner like a motorcycle.  MMMM, Chinese Food!
Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
Done.  Stop.  Can’t breathe.  Knees failing.  Puke, Puke, Puke.  “Use the Force.”

Friday, 18 February 2011

Yummy, Yummy, Yummy

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

Today I present an awesome brownie recipe.*  Now, I give you this with the full understanding that you promise to use it and share it often.

What you need:
A 25cm (or 26x27) baking tin/pan
Baking paper
Kitchen scale
Wooden spoon
Sifter (or whisk)
Measuring cups
Medium mixing bowl
Small saucepan

250g unsalted butter (I use a block of Lurpak)
200g dark chocolate
80g cocoa powder (sifted)
65g plain flour (sifted)
1tsp baking powder
360g caster sugar
4 eggs

Now these are enough for the basic brownie.  I have to variations as well.
1)      Christmas brownie  Tangerine zest & 50g of chopped hazelnut
2)      Black Forest brownie  75 g tinned black cherries (drained & cut up; fresh works just as well, if not better), 50g cherry jam

-I start by gathering ingredients and measuring them out, at least the dry ones.  I then slice the block of butter to make it easier to melt. 

-Preheat the oven to 180 C (350F).  Line the baking tin/pan with baking paper.

-Gently melt the dark chocolate and butter together in small saucepan over low heat.  I stir every few minutes with wooden spoon.  When the butter is almost melted, turn off the heat so the mixture doesn’t burn.  VARIATIONS:  Christmas: Add tangerine zest and chopped hazelnut to the melted mixture.  Black Forest: add chopped cherries

-While this is melting, gather together the dry ingredients; cocoa powder, flour, baking powder, caster sugar.  I don’t have a sifter.  I put all the dry ingredients in the mixing bowl and mix them together with a whisk.  The effect seems to be the same. 

-Once the melted chocolate mixture is ready and the dry ingredients are sifted (whisked) add the chocolate mixture to the mixing bowl.  Mix together, gently, with a wooden spoon. (It will take a bit and feel a bit gritty, but keep going.  It may clumps on the sides of the bowl.  Use a rubber scraper along the side of the bowl to incorporate the clumps into the mixture. 

-At this point, beat the four eggs together and add them to the mixture.  They will resist, but mix gently with the wooden spoon until silky.  The mixture should start to pull away from the sides of the bowl.  VARIATIONS:  Black Forest: when the mixture is nice and silky, add the cherry jam.  Just mix it enough to create a visual swirl.

-Pour the mixture into the baking tin/pan.  You may have to ease it into the corners.  Into the oven it goes for 25 minutes. 

-At 25 minutes the middle should be gooey and the top will be crisp with a few cracks around the edges.  Allow the brownies to cool in the tin/pan on a cooling rack.  After about 15 minutes you should be able to lift the mixture out by grabbing the paper edges.  Allow the brownie block to cool the rest of the way in just the paper on the cooling tray. 

-Cut into 20 squares.  Store in an airtight container lined with parchment baking paper.

Serving Suggestion:
Zap a square in the microwave for about 20 seconds.  It will be melt-in-your-mouth, buttery, chocolate heaven.  Add a scoop of ice cream or a drizzle of Bailey’s.  Or eat cold in secret as you pass through the kitchen.  Either way, enjoy.

*The recipe is originally from Jamie Oliver.  The variations are mine.   

Tuesday, 15 February 2011

The Wall*

It’s Tuesday Fit-Day.  A weekly meditation on fitness goals, successes and failures.  Thinking about it once a week is a step toward making it a part of everyday.

This week fitness and weight watchers didn’t jive. 
This week I earned more activity points than daily overages.  I even had enough left over to gorge on a 58 point meal last night for Valentine’s Day and be within my weekly ration (daily ration is 29 points).  I fit into a designer dress I haven’t been able to wear since 2006 (but have kept because it cost more than my rent at the time).  I bought a skirt in pre-Pete size and fit into a borrowed dress two sizes smaller than usual.  I ran 4k on Monday morning without stopping. 
I gained half a pound. 
It’s only a half pound which is nothing.  It’s a long trip to the bathroom.  But it was a let-down after the great week I thought I had.  And at the weigh-in it was greeted with horror.  Not really helpful.  My leader asked if I was wearing different clothes than usual.  I have no idea, but is that really the point?  To get the lowest possible number by stripping down?  I’m not a runner and I frickin’ ran 4K! Shouldn’t an increasing level of fitness be applauded?  I asked if muscle gain could be a factor and my leader told me that unless I have been doing major weight lifting that it won’t make a difference (and then suggested that I make a trip to the bathroom before weigh-in).  But how does she explain that my measurements have continued to decrease this week but I gained on the scale?  She couldn’t.  Not the most inspiring leader I have to say. 
So I cried.  Even though I knew I was healthier and fitter and smaller than I had been the week before, I cried (after leaving the meeting, of course).  I worked so hard and failed because the scale spit out an arbitrary number.   Maybe I have hit a wall.  My weight loss has been slowing despite getting better about activity points and overages.  I haven’t been this weight since our first anniversary.  That’s four and a half years ago.  I have lost 12 pounds in about 9 weeks.  Perhaps my body is freaking out and is holding on.  Or maybe it is muscle.  Who knows.  But in the eyes of Weight Watchers, or at least its monitoring tools, I failed.  I don’t think that is a healthy way of thinking about my body.  Up until now I have been pretty happy with my WW experience and advice, but now I am annoyed with the emphasis on a number.  Last night I didn’t want to eat the meal we had been looking forward to so much in the past weeks that it had made it on the calendar (PIZZA!).  I had made special black forest brownies, set up a living room picnic blanket with pillows and flowers and candles, and chilled champagne for our first married Valentine’s Day and all I could think about on the way home was, I failed.
Don’t worry, I got over it and downed four slices, 2 flutes of champers, a brownie and Hageen-Dazs.  Because, damn it, it’s just a number and I will enjoy this evening with my husband.  I’m not going to meet the number goal I had for the cruise, but I am going to fit into fun cocktail dresses and old bathing suits.  Screw the number and bring on the drinks with umbrellas!!!

*Whenever I hear this phrase I think of Midsummer’s Night Dream.  I know most people go to Floyd, I go to Shakespeare.  I remember a particular adaptation, I think it was at the community theatre, and an actor holding up a placard painted like a brick wall saying, “I am the wall.”  It wasn’t the words, it was inflection, and it cracks me up just thinking about it.  Although now that I think about it more, it might have been the more recent movie version, but I swear I was much younger and in a darkened theatre with my Mom.  Or maybe that was the puppet Tempest we saw in Oberlin (which is the best I have seen to date).  Oh well, this tangent has gone on too long.  “I am the Wall.”

Friday, 11 February 2011


Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation. 

If one more person tells me to have a baby, I’ll scream*

I’m not opposed to babies.  What I am opposed to is the response ‘so have a baby’ when I say that I am currently unemployed and a housewife.  Is that really the best reason to have a child?  I think not.
Pete and I are not ready to have a kid.  I know most people say that if you wait until you’re ready you’ll never have a child, but we are really not ready.  There is a lot we want to do before we have a baby.  A few months ago we decided, while quite tipsy on cocktails, that we would go off birth control when my current prescription runs out.  (See what I mean? Really not ready.)  That’s in a few months.  I will most likely still be unemployed and my career still stalled.  And while some would say, ‘If the career isn’t going anywhere why not put that job search energy into having a baby?’ I am not stoked about putting a career that doesn’t really exists on hold for another 10 years.  I know it can be done and be still be rewarding and successful, and if it doesn’t exists what’s the harm? But I am not quite ready to give up on it just yet. 
I’m a procrastinator.  Always have been.  If you look up procrastination in the dictionary, my name is listed as an example.  Seriously.  I found it one summer when I was home from University.  My mother had written it there (in pen) five years earlier.   I need to warm up to things.  I like to let it roll around in the head for awhile and then maybe  take some action.  Maybe.
I’m someone who never thought they would get married and never really thought about having kids.  Cats, yes, but not kids.  I need to get my head around being a wife (and a doctor) before I jump into being a mother.  One thing at a time, please.  Let me enjoy discovering the new title changes and identities.
But here’s the one that annoys me the most.  I am in my 30’s and for the past two years my gyno asks about when am I thinking about having kids because I am not getting any younger.  Wait, what???  That makes me take a step back every time (or at least scoot away from the end of the table).  First, why is it a given that I am going to have children . Second, what’s the rush?  32 isn’t that old is it?  And third, she only started asking after I got engaged.  Would she have asked if I was still single?  I would think a woman in this particular position would have a bit more tact or at least wait until I brought up the subject.  Perhaps she is just covering her medical a** and ticking a box about ‘providing family planning information.’  Whatever the reason, this kind of expectation makes me want to put off having children just out of principle. 
We have since decided to push the birth control end date back another two years (at least).  Actually, we decided that Pete would  stay with his current company as a contractor for another two years and then become a permanent employee with benefits as we will be needing ‘paternity leave, paid holiday, etc.’  So, without actually saying it out loud, we have opted for more us time.  We are still getting used to being a family of two and want to enjoy that a bit before we become three.  Our five+ years together have been full of a lot of transition and change.  A little time to settle and enjoy being a young married couple will be divine.  Plus, we have a lot of travelling still to do.  We haven’t taken a real vacation that didn’t involve some type of family obligation in two years.  We both kind of have this idea that we need to get everything done on our ‘life lists’ before kids come around.  It’s ridiculous, perhaps, but there it is.  It’s time for us to be us.  Time for us to explore and enjoy what it means to be husband and wife, on our own terms. 
I’m very excited about that, as a housewife or other-wise employed. 

I had this post all set and then I went into my doctoral alma mater.  I have been MIA since finishing, which isn’t unusual but everyone wants to know what you have been up to.  And they mean academically, nothing else really registers.  I recounted my numerous failed applications and proposals and that I was currently an overly qualified housewife.  And there it was, it was a joke, but it was there, ‘So have a baby!!’  I’m going to blow passed this to something I started thinking about during the seminar about mothering images, etc. 
During the small talk of academic catch-up I really enjoy saying that I have been honing my housewife skills.  In this environment I enjoy saying that I have been biding my time cooking, writing non-academic essays, and taking care of my husband.  In these moments I own it and love it.  The feminist geographers hate this.  I could go on a rant about this, but I won’t.  It’s in the same corner as the gyno rant.  Expectation of woman’s role.  Gyno is traditional; women, married women, reproduce.  Feminist geographers’ is a bit backward; enjoying a traditional role is a step backward.  Neither one seems to help the cause.  I think a huge part of *feminism* is having a choice.  Yes I am currently a housewife due to a lack of employment opportunity (and a little laziness, let’s be honest) but I am also choosing to be a housewife over being a coffee barista.  I am choosing to take care of our domestic life for a variety of reasons, but I am choosing it.  As was pointed out over at Reclaiming Wife yesterday, what we think of as *women’s* work is oppressive if we feel oppressed doing it, but not because we are women doing it.  Check out the discussion for any issues you have with calling it women’s work in the first place.  Language causes problems but we can move beyond them until better language comes around (okay, a tiny rant).
Actually, lately I have been thinking about how to have a career I enjoy and still be able to take care of things around the house.  Because, as much as I like to complain, I really like taking care of our nest.  I like the logistics of making sure laundry is done and ironed on time, of making sure we have a variety of dinners and that they are done on time, of our social life (as limited as it is), of our bigger to-do lists, of making Pete’s life a bit easier.  He is an incredible support to me and my current soul searching, it’s the least I can do for our little team.  (Notice that actual cleaning is not listed. I am the queen of the tidying and shifting of sh*t, but I do hate cleaning). 
FYI: The book proposal is being dragged out again.  Stay tuned.

Wednesday, 9 February 2011

Ariel & Sadie: Yoga Cronies

From time to time my younger self offers advice and commentary on my older Married Ladie life.

Sadie:  I am the youngest member of my Yoga class.  By decades.  But there are times I feel like the older, wiser woman.  I watch and listen to my classmates and think, “Oh, bless.”  My classmates are witches.  They own one of those stores where you can buy all things New Age.  Crystals, cards, books, incense, music, clothes, statues…everything you need to supply your ‘alternative lifestyle.’  They ooh and awe over the full moon and the energy flowing from the instructor’s new salt rock light.  They wear their pentacles proudly and want to organize a nude practice to celebrate the new moon. 
It’s a good thing we practice in near darkness because I can’t keep from smiling and shaking my head (when it won’t interfere with my balance).  They begin conversations with me about this great new chanting CD they have and the best herb for a stiff hip.  They assume I am one of them.  Why?  No other class or instructor has assumed this.  Am I giving off an energy like the rock light?

Ariel: Of course you are!  You are overloaded with ‘alternative lifestyles,’ or what is more commonly known as New Age Ooh-Waa-Waa energy.  In our short life we have been a microbiotic, been smudged with sage to cleanse our aura, held crystals to heal pain, stretched a drum for Native American drumming circles, sewed a mini inner-goddess for personal strength, meditated, spun prayer wheels while contemplating the Four Noble Truths and hung coloured flags to take prayers to the four winds, taken walks on the full moon to quiet menstrual pain, and given a nod to Ganesh.   Some of these activities were personal choices, a lot were not.  Remember?  Mom is a searcher and we were dragged along. 
Remember our first period?  We were almost late to basketball try-outs because of a candle ritual that, amongst other things, involved getting all our baby teeth in a red pouch.  The cloud of sage smudge followed us onto the court.  In hindsight, missing the try-outs probably would have improved our chances of getting on the team.  How much seaweed did we eat?  Any food the consistency of rubber has to stick around for awhile and is probably still oozing out of your pores. 
Or maybe, because you have seen it all already, you give off an accepting vibe.  Whether you like it or not, you’re a kindred spirit.  Just go with it.  If nothing else it makes for great cocktail chat (not that I would know).  

Tuesday, 8 February 2011

Running against the wind

It’s Tuesday Fit-Day.  A weekly meditation on fitness goals, successes and failures.  Thinking about it once a week is a step toward making it a part of everyday.

Did it again and again.  Three times now.  WooHoo!! 
It wasn’t easy.  While the temperature is rising here in London town, the wind is as well.  I have also starting running in the morning and the traffic is getting annoying.  Walking and Driving.  I hit the school/end of rush hour.  I was dodging kids and backpacks and had to stop at every crossing.  No matter how obscure or how much rust was on the parking lot barrier.  And then there was the wind.  Oh the wind.  Let’s just say it was quite gusty.  So gusty in fact that I was expecting a flying cow, knitting grannie and a boat of gleeful fishermen to make an appearance.  The last 2/3 of the run is always the time I want to lie down and cry.  The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that my body would never be found amidst all the junk along the side of the road.  The wind was killer strong.  My snot was flying horizontally out of my nose and the iphone earbud cord was also on that trajectory.  There were moments when I knew my legs were moving forward but I was definitely not.  I don’t run very fast.  In fact, it may not qualify as running as I could probably walk faster.  These moments brought a verbal ‘Come on!’ as in ‘are you kidding me with this wind?’ 
This is not the first time in my athletic history that I have been pumping away and not going anywhere.  (yes, this is a tangent, just go with it)  When I was a kid I played softball.  No, really for at least three summers.  Okay, I stood out in right field and tried to look athletic, but I still had to participate in batting.  When I did make contact with the ball I would haul-ass to first base.  Or at least it felt like I was hauling ass.  Apparently, according to spectators, I was putting a lot of energy into looking like a running cartoon character.  You know, when the legs are kicking up quite a dust cloud but the background hasn’t actually moved?  That was me.  That is still me.  I wondered why that cement truck was just sitting there after the traffic started moving.  Maybe he’s never seen a live action stationary-dust-cloud-runner before. 

This was a hard Weight Watchers week.  I couldn’t get enough food.  I just wanted to keep eating and eating.  There was a lot of activity this week, but only a half pound of weight loss.  I think my body is freaking out.  We haven’t been this skinny for about five years and it is desperately clinging to its comfort layer.  At least that’s what I think.  Pete thinks I am gaining muscle as well as losing so the scales may not be accurate.  Isn’t he just the best?  Always the optimist! 
This week felt like I wasn’t really getting anywhere, but one foot in front of the other, and despite the wind, I got there.  (I even got some ‘work’ done as well.)

Friday, 4 February 2011

The Housewife Gods were smiling

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.  Join me as I attempt to find a balance between what I think I want and what I do from day to day.

I know I promised a post about my annoyance of the expectation of babies now that we are hitched, but there is so much material there, it isn’t going anywhere.  Today I want to talk about some of the better aspects of being a housewife in London.  Namely, enjoying the one sunny day in the past six months and mid-afternoon shopping. 
Yesterday I met up with a girlfriend for a day out.  She is in the final painful throes of her thesis and I am, well, free.  We decided to go the National Gallery and check out the top 30 ‘must-see’ paintings.  I added a side trip to Regent’s Street as I had to check out a shop for my sister-in-law. 
We met in Trafalgar Square at the fourth plinth (how London is that?!).  It happened to be a gorgeous day.  Blue sky, bright sun sparkling off the fountains in the square and hundreds of tourists taking photos.  (I made it into at least three photos on my short walk across the square).  It was such a beautiful day that we almost didn’t want to head inside. 
At this point I want to point out that I had put together an outfit that I was very proud of.  It wasn’t too fancy and I probably have worn a very similar outfit 11 pounds ago, but for some reason, today, I was feeling very good about it.  And really, as every woman knows, it makes all the difference to the day.  I may very well have been strutting a bit across the square.  (The playlist on the iphone doesn’t hurt.  I frequently find myself walking a bit taller and with more purpose with particular songs). 
I was dying for a coffee.  It was noon and usually a coffee at this point would mean not only unnecessary points but also a sleepless night, but damn it, we were going to sit down and have a chat over coffee in a sunny café.  It was my day out.  So we did and caught up a bit before heading into the gallery. 
Up until this point, my only experience with the National gallery was the movie Wild Target.  We wondered and pondered the top 30.  Some we agreed with, others we weren’t feeling and we discovered a few others that, in our opinion, should be substituted in.  And then I had a moment.  We were in a room with Van Gough’s sunflowers, Monet’s water lilies and a lot of kids in uniform.  I changed direction to avoid the uniforms and saw an oddly familiar face across the room.  It was a little red-headed kid cradling a bird.  I first met this kid at my grandmother’s house.  It was like running into a childhood friend in a crowd you never expected to see again.  I was drawn to it, examining the brush strokes, noticing the artist’s name scrawled in the background (who knew it was Picasso?) and trying to work up some awe.  But I could only muster memories of my Gramma’s house.  As beautiful as the original is, I prefer my original.
We skipped 5 of the top 30 (neither of us are into grotesque religious paintings) and headed to the Crypt Café in St-Martin-in-the-Field for excellent soup and conversation.  When we emerged at 3:15pm, IT WAS STILL SUNNY OUT and we headed for Regent’s Street via Chinatown and Piccadilly Circus. 
The shop didn’t have the items my sister-in-law was looking for but we hung around to do a little window (and tactile) shopping.  That’s when we discovered the sale room.  An entire room of numerous styles and sizes all at prices discounted 50% or more!!!!!  I grabbed four dresses and headed to the dressing room with great light and (I suspect) skinny mirrors.  Everything fit.  Let me repeat that, in case you missed it, EVERYTHING FIT!!!!  I bought two of the four items (almost a third, but the dress was a little too Houlihan for my taste) and signed up for a loyalty card.  And then, to top it all off and make the day that much better, my bus showed up just as I exited the tube station.  HELLO!!!!  It was like the Housewife Gods were smiling on me all day!!!
Then I got home and the power cut off.  The gods always test you after smiling on you.  This was an excellent opportunity to research a ‘How to cook dinner during a power cut when your gas stove and boiler are electrically powered without blowing yourself up’ post.  We went out for Mexican. 

Tuesday, 1 February 2011


It’s Tuesday Fit-Day.  A weekly meditation on fitness goals, successes and failures.  Thinking about it once a week is a step toward making it a part of everyday.

First things first.  I ran 3Ks yesterday.  WITHOUT STOPPING!!!  I wanted to puke. 
This is a big step toward my fitness goal.  A very small step, but big as well.  I have to be able to do it again, and that is the hard part.  My fitness goal is to be able to run 5k in under 40 minutes.  ( I did the 3K in 24 minutes).  This is part of a plan to make exercise easy to slot into daily life.  I have no desire to be a ‘runner,’ but, if I know I can get my whole workout (cardio & conditioning, including travelling to and from house) done in an hour, I am more likely to keep it up. 
But here’s another step.  I’m not going to try again until Friday.  Sounds a bit crazy, right?  But I am working on three workouts a week and Wednesday I have an hour and a half yoga class.  This is an important realization for me.  I tend to try and do it all at once and then inevitably fail and give it up as too hard.  This time I am taking it one week at a time. 
This is something I have learned from Weight Watchers.  (It’s not just about losing weight for me.)  I have been quite successful with the weight loss by just taking it one week at a time, one challenge a week.  I am applying the same mind frame to other areas of life.  It feels good and hopefully will continue to produce results. 

In running and personal development,
It’s all about pace.