The hardest part of working out is getting yourself to start something.

As soon as you start, you are so darned proud of yourself for actually doing it, that you continue, especially if the person looking back at you in the mirror, as you exercise, looks better than before.

Jeff Beck helped me get back in the groove today. As soon as I hit "play" on my old, but fantastic, Panasonic boombox, and his guitar's pulsing twangs filled the room, I felt strong and enthusiastic.
After a warmup of dancing around, I jumped on the Stairmaster and spent 25 intense minutes in "max fat burn" mode, at level 7. The beginning felt exhilarating, but the last 5 minutes were a struggle, because Beck makes you do a killer workout, if you keep up with his beat. I kept looking over my shoulder to see how much time I had left until the flashing red "GOAL ATTAINED."

With 10 minutes to go, Boomer walked in, with his adoring smile and sweet little voice, delighted to have found me. He proceeded to run in circles, saying he liked the music. So after I got off the Stairmaster, with my incentive right there, in front of me, I lifted some serious weights. My little sweetie came up and gave me a high five after a set I almost couldn't finish. Then, he started running around again, sing-songing "Mama uh-size, go Mama!"

I swear, I think he missed our workouts.

Tomorrow at 10:30 I am taking him to another preschool. This one is in a private home, much smaller, and the owner is a Turkish lady raised in London. I am very excited, hopeful, and at the same time, I have to admit I've been crying tonight. Boomer may be ready, but Mama is not.

I really, really am feeling for my mother-in-law. I "stole" her son when he was only 17. I now understand why the poor woman was so devastated. That had to be absolutely brutal.