Now that the weather's turned popcicle-y, my eyes fly open automatically at 5:40 a.m. and I trudge down the hallway to the spare room and do my morning workout. The morning walk thing seems a bit ridiculous now that I have to bind my body up like Tutankamun to keep all that valuable toastiness in. So, Zumba and cruches it is!
I have to admit the cheeky little Zumba leader fellow gets on my last flaming nerve before sunrise, but by the time I get my heart thumping and my adrenaline flowing, I begin to think the little Columbian chipmunk is pretty cute. Then I spend the rest of the workout envying all the great whippy hair the lead workout model has.
The last bit of my routine in the morning involves a bit of cat butt dodging. I go into the library, turn on my old-timey wood-and-mesh radio to something peppy, stake out a spot on the oversized rug and go to town on my abs. At some point in my routine, my cat Miss Daphne beats her little biscuit head on the door sufficient to open it a crack and sneak in to disturb me. As I'm laying in the floor in various states of pretzelhood, she never fails to flick her tail in my face or rub against my shoulder. She's a bother, for sure, but I'm so soft toward a creature that wants nothing more than lay beside me and soak up my attention. This occasionally results in the odd supersonic situp, but hey, when you love somebody, you make sacrifices.
No comments:
Post a Comment