I love my couch. We have an understanding, my couch and I. Around 4:30 p.m. every day, I come home, open the back door for the dog, and plop myself down for a good hour-long session of, "Ahhhh." I watch TV, I knit, I eat horrible things like peanut butter and Nutella.
This system works really well, except for two things:
The awful, sad looks my dog gives me because I'm neglecting him, and
The fact that being stationary and eating peanut butter and Nutella will make you fat. Quickly.
So Monday morning, I decided that if I wanted to eat peanut butter and Nutella and enjoy the loving arms of my couch, I'd better hit the gym.
Tuesday morning, the snooze alarm won. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting after work, then visited my good buddy the couch. Of course I brought along our BFFs, peanut butter and Nutella. But then the most amazing thing happened.
I added up the number of points I'd consumed during 45-minutes of eating and watching "Pillars of the Earth." And changed into my workout clothes. And clipped Koa's leash to his collar. AND headed up a big hill.
Once I got to the top of the hill, I started running. Right out of nowhere! And I didn't stop for three miles. And three big hills.
Then, yesterday being Wednesday, I decided it was my Day Off from Exercise. But when I got home, I once again added up the points of the giant cupcake and ham/butter/cheese sandwich I had for lunch. Once again, I strapped on my running shoes. And once again, Koa and I headed out for adventure.
This time I decided to walk, mostly because the temperatures were topping off in the 90s. And I kept walking ... until we hit our old favorite trail, all shaded and cool, with a stream running alongside it. Then we started running. And didn't stop for a mile. The only reason we did stop is because I forgot about the half-mile almost-vertical climb at the end of this particular trail.
That makes three days in a row of voluntary, not-for-any-good-reason running. I'm sort of creeped out because ...
It was fun.
Today is really my day off, though. I don't want to jinx anything. Or disrupt the space-time continuum with too much of this exercise-is-fun nonsense.
I love to bake. My husband loves to eat what I bake.
You can see how, mathematically, that works out pretty well for me.
So with two apple trees in the backyard heavy with fruit (well, all the fruit sort of dropped off one of the trees last night, so maybe it's just one treeful now), I've got all sorts of applicious plans.
A couple weekends ago, it was a perfect Dutch Apple Pie.
Last weekend, it was Apple Crisp.
I had big plans for this Apple Crisp. I'd been thinking about it all week, saving it as a weekend project even though apples were just flying off the tree. I made sure I had quick-cooking oats and brown sugar.
So on Saturday, I was set. I made my Apple Crisp in the afternoon, and set it next to the Costco take-and-bake pizza that would be dinner, so Matt would see what an awesome wife he has. After the pizza was finished cooking, I popped the Crisp in the oven. We even found some vanilla ice cream in the freezer to serve with it.
Oooh, I waited. Apple Crisp ala mode.
I served Matt a bowlful, and then settled in to my own delicious dessert. And after two bites, I remembered something utterly and tragically dismaying.
I really don't like Apple Crisp.
How could I have forgotten! There's something about the oatmeal-cookie-over-apple-pie dessert combo that makes me instantly, achingly full and regretful of every bite I took.
I walked out to the living room and sadly handed my bowl to Matt, who had already finished his.
And I have been walking around, bitterly disappointed, ever since. I'm still working on how it's possible that I'm over 30 years old, and still can't keep my food preferences straight.
Most of all, though ... I was really looking forward to that Apple Crisp!
I'm Steph. I just turned 31, and realized that if I'm going to live this life, I'd better get started! Since I can't choose just one path to follow, I'm choosing several. Join me as I check items off my to-do list ... or just make them disappear, at will.