I got out to the gym this morning, and did a hard workout on the treadmill. I feel strong and confident. I have more energy than I’ve had all week. We were still home by Sesame Street time, so I’m at my normal practice level. In fact, I’m less stressed about my audition and actually enjoyed my first hour of playing quite a lot. Zoe got a chance to play with other kids and unfamiliar toys in the Child Watch, and was ready for her nap this afternoon. Steve got to sleep in and enjoy his coffee in peace. There is no downside to going to the gym.
Why, then, has it been so many weeks since I’ve been? Why do I spend my mornings at home glowering at the snow out the window and wishing Steve would get up to take the baby so I could start working? What on earth is better about a second cup of coffee and a cranky bored toddler than a trip out?
It’s just January that feels so overwhelming, of course. It’s dark outside, even at almost 8am. Zoe and I both need clothes on instead of pajamas, and then layers of winter coats and hats and boots. We have over two feet of snow on the ground, so everything feels like an ordeal. I have to pull the car half-way out of the space to access the passenger door to install the baby in the car seat, and scrape ice off the windshield, and hope I don’t get stuck in the huge snowdrifts in my own neighborhood on my one-and-a-half block route to the main road. It takes a good half-hour to get from the breakfast table to the gym two miles away, in other words, and it’s easy to talk myself out of it.
But in the same way that I convince myself every day to assemble the oboe and soak a reed and start my scales, I can get out the door with the baby for something that’s good for us both. I can resist the urge to hibernate and the siren song of the coffee pot. Self-discipline is my middle name. I can do this.