A few weeks ago my niece who is also my virtual trainer and one of my best friends, she texted me and asked if I had done the workout I was supposed to do for the day.

I laughed.

I hadn’t done the workout for the day in about two weeks.

I texted back: Wearing the same clothes from last Tuesday. Not exercising. Not eating kale. Just stepped on a banana.

A few days later, a box arrived in the mail.

It was a small stair stepper. The kind you can keep under your bed. The kind from infomercials. The kind that would make all my dreams come true.

I was thrilled.

Here are the reasons:

a. it was new.

b. it looked so easy.

c. I could do it in my bedroom where no one could see me.

d. it meant I was going to become fit and get dressed regularly and start eating kale.

Um.

Guess what happened?

I kept waiting for a chunk of time to do it. I kept looking for my sports bra and my dumb yoga pants. I kept waiting for the kids to be occupied. I kept waiting for the perfect time and the perfect atmosphere and the perfect feeling in my heart and soul to begin my journey to physical fitness.

Today I took the stepper out of the box. Finally.

I also got on the stepper. In my nightgown and underwear and barefeet and no bra (don’t picture it–please) and for ten interrupted (but I did squats during the interruptions) minutes, I did the stair stepper.

And, I felt amazing. I looked awful. My hair kept getting in my mouth. I didn’t have a protein drink hand and it wasn’t for sixty minutes. But amazing.

I still feel amazing. Ten minutes! It’s a start.

I sometimes do this with a new project. Or even an old project. One that I love. One that has so many shiny prospects. It’s going to be so easy! It’s going to be the novel of my dreams!  I would write and it would flow out of my  fingers and I wouldn’t stop until it was done. 2000 words a day just like Mr. Stephen King!!!!! But first I need time to write. I need a place to write. I need to feel like writing. I need everyone to LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!

But then . . .

Two weeks later.

Three weeks later.

And a new piece of workout equipment or novel idea looks so much better, so much more promising

I’m going to try ten minutes a day on my new stair stepper.

I’m also going to try ten minutes a day on my book that this killing me and that I’m a champion at avoiding. Ten minutes! Ten interrupted minutes even! Without wearing a bra!

I think I may be the only person with this problem. Oh well.