Roughly once a month~ depending on the weather that dictates the amount of clothing I need to wear~ I begin a new diet. Ocassionally, I’ll even flirt with the idea of working out consistently. Earlier this month, the chosen workout regime for 2010 was going to be sweating it out at Sparta Crossfit. Suffice it to say that I was so fatigued at the end of my workout, my 8 ounce water bottle felt like a barbell. I opted to dehydrate rather than lift it to my chapped, cracked lips.
My husband is a workout addict. Literally. He has never understood why I can’t stick to a plan to “make time for myself”. I’ve never understood why he doesn’t recognize time curled up with a book as time for myself. Ah, opposites do attract.
The diet and workout industry has my number ~ I must be on a national list of suckers because today I got an email from LAFitness (I used to donate my money to them monthly and ask nothing in return). They want me back. I obliged because the price was right.
I’m going tomorrow and my plan is to go at least four times a week until I’m 105 pounds. In reality, they might see me four times this year. This routine, however, makes me love my husband all the more. He concedes because I’m either ridiculously convincing in my plea or because he thinks there is some very remote possibility I’ll get the “bug” to do this like I had once upon a time.
Either way, he doesn’t rain on my parade and I appreciate that. He feigns enthusiasm every time I start over and pretends not to notice when I fail to keep my end of the bargain. It’s a Godly thing that he does for me; allowing me to come to him asking for a clean slate and not keeping track of my past mistakes. Encouraging me without any reference to my track record. I’m thankful for his indulgence…and His.