So the Little Man and I have been going to the gym. Living in a city, my usual resort of walking and hiking for exercise is just not an option - much to my deep frustration, but that's a topic for another post when I'm not doing this - and the kid really needed some structured strength training, so here we are. I did rather a lot of shopping around. I didn't want the big name 'we're cheap' planetary gym. I didn't want a gung-ho oorah gym. What we got is a nice big clean gym where everyone minds their own routines, and there's enough space to not feel crowded. It's also affordable, although I'd already realized this was a necessity, not a luxury. If the kid wants to go military in two years, he has a lot of work to do. And it certainly won't hurt me to work right alongside him. Gives him a little friendly competition, and motivation. I mean, who wants their mom lifting more than they can?
Part of what I paid for was a few sessions with a personal trainer. He's a nice kid, just about a year older than my Eldest, and a wiry little guy with a quick comprehension. I didn't have to tell him the focus was on the kid, not me, he caught right on, and targeted the training for the Little Man to work on the core issues there. One thing he had us doing as the opening of each session was a warm up. Sometimes this was floor exercises, stretching and moving. Tonight it was the three of us on stationary bikes, pedaling while chatting about what the routine for the night would be, music, and life in general. It was so laid back, but by the time we'd done a mile on the bikes we were ready to really work, and I'd relaxed.
Today was a weird day. I'd intended to write, or at least write a post, when I got home from work. Then I was going to do the gym, make dinner, and write fiction. I managed art at lunch, so that was already checked off the list. Well, my mind was not in the right place to blog. Not my story to tell. So instead I talked to my First Reader for an hour. We'd been missing the timing for almost a week, and only having short check-ins. This separation is wearing on me, and I assume him, as well. We hadn't planned it to go this long. Had I realized... I'm not unhappy we're moved to TX. Just I think we would have approached the OH sales differently. Still, it can't last forever. I can cling to that hope, and talking on the phone does make me feel better.
Writing like this, stream of consciousness, is like the warmups before the gym workouts. It's not that I can't just sit and start writing cold. I could do that with a workout, too. It's easier, and I'm unlikely to injure myself writing fiction (what would that look like, anyway?) I can get my hands in motion. Brain, too. Although I have to say that an ideal warmup for stories looks more like a long hot shower, or washing dishes, or something along that order, where I'm unplugged and alone in my own head for a little while. I'll do stuff like that (laundry. Vacuuming, watering plants, setting up tomorrow's coffee) when I get stuck during a writing session. Get up, walk away from the desk for five minutes. Drink water. Then come back, get butt in seat, and pound the keyboard.
Like... now.