Finally, after the fourth alarm, I set another one: “You can work out tonight,” I assured myself.
As the day wore on, as well as my endless fatigue, “You’ve been so dedicated. You can skip a day, if you want.” My brain totally agreed.
“I’m tired. I work so hard. One day won’t matter.” These lies made sense to my very tired body.
As I went on with the evening, and cried the regular, normal tears of grief, my brain took over. “Exercising will help you feel better. You don’t have to do the scheduled workout, you are allowed to mix it up with your favorite program. You only have to do it for 15 minutes. Ten, if you really don’t want to do it.”
Finally, I changed my clothes, poured some water, and walked over to the DVD player. I told myself I could do 15 minutes, but talked myself into 25.
Although no one was home to notice or care; my number one cheerleader is no longer here with me, I pressed play.
I moved. I danced. I flung my body about like there was no tomorrow. The minutes ticked by slowly at first. “Will this EVER be OVER?” I whined in my head.
Before I knew it, the workout was done. I was hot, sweaty, and felt a little less sad. I pressed play, although my cheering section was gone. I pressed play for me and no one else.
Pressing play, on this day, when I didn’t want to do it, gave me hope that maybe, just maybe someday, I will feel real happiness again.