The sun will come out.

Sometimes I have to go to Los Angeles for work. And when I say I go to LA, I am not referring to affluent neighborhoods like Bel Aire. I am not rocking Beverly Hills or Santa Monica. I am not cruising Rodeo Drive or running into celebrities at restaurants. I am hanging out on Crenshaw and Martin Luther King Blvd. My wonderful boyfriend frequently asks where it is that I am headed so that he can mentally assess the area and the amount of caution he wants to advise while determining the amount of worry he will apply to my absence. His mother will scold him for allowing me to go alone, as if it is possible for him to accompany me. A co-worker will often give me directions to where I am going to avoid certain streets. She comments, "It is okay... you will feel safe there." Comforting. My lovely father who worked in South Central Los Angeles for decades has given me the advice to just leave before it gets dark (which will be a lot more difficult with this time change.)

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I am never worried about my safety when I am doing these client visits. I am aware of my surroundings, without looking around too much. I know that I can stand my ground and that I am not one to freeze. I know that I can think clearly in chaotic and crisis situations. Ain't no thang. I got that. What I am worried about is how long I am going to have to sit in traffic after I am done with the visits. School gets out around 3ish... I need to be gone by dark... I have a 2 hour window that puts me back on the freeway at the worst time for traffic ever. (Let's be honest, the traffic starts at like 3pm and it doesn't matter what day it is. Sometimes it blows my mind that there can be that many people headed in the same direction. So weird.)

And I am finally to my optimistic point... I have to go to LA, which is not convenient in the least. But when I am sitting in traffic and I start to get irritated that it has taken me 10 minutes to go 1 mile, I open my sunroof. I roll down my window. I smile because it is November and I am still wearing a tank top and sandals. I smile as I gladly accept sitting in traffic. I feel the joy of the sunshine and warmth that I have relished in all day long...and will soak up tomorrow as well. I do not dream of white Christmases. I dream of Christmas barbecue dinners that we eat outside. I dream of anything under 60 degrees being seen as ridiculous (because it is.)

(And there is an excellent chance that the sun is out TODAY! Right now... While you read this. Looking.... yep. Moving back to SoCal was the best decision ever. Yippee!!) 

Runner's High.

I do not get a runner's high. I do not have a surge of endorphins from working out making me feel wonderful. I do not feel better after a workout. I feel tired. I feel sweaty. I feel disgusting. Please stop telling me that I will grow to like exercising. This is not in the stars for me. I just don't like it. My favorite part of any workout routine is the rest days. Telling me that I will love exercising is like telling me that I will one day own a unicorn that poops gold. It would be awesome and amazing and I would love for that to happen. And while anything is possible (I guess) it is not necessarily probable.

http://www.etsy.com/listing/93936708/unicorn-pillow-magical-pooping-unicorn

Yep, I have equated mythical creatures as a companion to the possibility that I will one day enjoy working out. I have had many bouts of time where I have exercised regularly. There have been spans lasting over a year where I went to the gym and I exercised as I "should" 4-5 times a week. Never did I like it. Never did I think, "Damn, I cannot wait to get off work so that I can go join the hamsters on a wheel at the gym." (Gyms actually kind of creep me out, which is an entirely different topic.)

I have many friends who love to exercise. They revolve their lives around it. Some have based their careers on it! (No thank you.) While they are crazy, they are also amazing and have given me so much free advice I hope they never add up how much I could owe them. Sometimes I think the only thing my friends and I have in common is that we think the same immature stuff is hilarious. (Also, a different topic on its own... and quite possibly a future post...I am chalk full of good ideas! BOOM!)

Saved By The Bell: Jesse & The Sundaes from Good Kids. on Vimeo.

What I DO enjoy... I DO love to feel healthy. I love to feel strong. I love to try on clothes at a store and have everything fit and look good as I try to narrow down my choices. I like that when I reach the top of the stairs I am not out of breath. I like that the boyfriend is proud of me for working hard even when it is not what I really want to be doing. I love that my endurance is higher. I love that if for some reason I randomly have to run a mile... in the rain...in a rain forest in India... to catch a boat tour that I don't really want to go on... wearing slip on Vans... that I can do that jog without the fear that I am going to die of exhaustion afterwards.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0075148/?ref_=nv_sr_2

So while I do not, and am pessimistic that I ever will, love to exercise, I have come to terms with it. And it is okay. I have weighed the pros and cons and I have decided that regular exercise, even if torturous in the moment, is beneficial to me in the long run for the long term effects. (I think I have been clear that the short term effects are just hatred and nastiness, yes?)

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So no more trying to convince me to love working out. I will get my cardio in. I will lift weights. I will hate it in the moment while loving how it effects my LIFE. It is kinda like making my bed in the morning. I just do it even if I am in a hurry and late. I make my bed because I know it makes my life feel more organized and helps me keep everything orderly. I am never going to LOVE making my bed. I am never going to pull those sheets up, place those pillows on the bed, and anticipate my bed making high from rushing endorphins... no... I am going to make my bed because it is just what I do to avoid a trickle effect of clutter. I will exercise to avoid the trickle effect of physical weakness and morbid obesity.

    

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And that folks... is all I have to say about that...for now.