Poetry in Motion

On the first of every month (and that, as we’ve already established up there, is today), I start off by waking up really, really, really early, which is usually at 1 o’clock. That would be P.M., by the way.

Unless I’m feeling really, really, really motivated – which is rare and, when it does strike, very fleeting – then I heave myself up at the crack of … *shudders*… noon.

I make my coffee and proceed to sip it in a reclining position.

This pose, I’ve found, is by far the most efficient for the solemn business of Resolution Making. It’s remarkable how easy it is to think inspiring and profound thoughts about say, exercise, when one is comfortably sprawled out on the couch.

So it is while I’m there, flat on my back, that I get all fired up in my mind about how I’m going to leap into a health routine that very day.

And before long, I can actually see myself, right there in my mind’s eye, sprinting and shedding the pounds with every painless stride that I take.

Let me tell you, it’s heartbreakingly beautiful how I run. It is completely effortless. And I’m all fitness and grace and agility and speed with not even the slightest sign of fatigue or sweat or achy joints or wiggly body parts.

And of course, I needn’t even tell you that I’m also decked out in full glamorous make-up and sporting a sleek and cooperative hairdo throughout this entire marathon-of-the-mind.

Behold, for I look like a Nike commercial.

As I fly past that slow-poke, Marion Jones, leaving her to eat my dust, I begin to hear the “Chariots of Fire” music and hordes of roaring fans chanting my name (“Run, Red, Ruuuuuun!”) and egging me on as I morph from a whale into a waif in two seconds flat, my brand new bony behind soaring across the finish line.

It’s only when my coffee is finished that I snap out of the fantasy.

And by that time, I’m exhausted. And hungry. (‘Cause it takes a lot out of you, these resolution-fantasy things, you know?)

So I then know that I have to procrastinate the exercise until after eating, because according to People Who Know about These Things, it’s very dangerous to exercise on an empty stomach. (Yes, even for swimming they – these People Who Know – have established that our mothers have been wrong all these years and that swimming on a full stomach will very logically help you to float better!) These Experts are quite clear that one needs to eat in order to get the fuel one needs to exercise.

Thus I eat. And because I’m really obedient to the Experts, I then eat some more. (One can’t be too careful.)

And before I know it, the day is over and I realize with a pang of regret (“Hooray!” she screams and downs another pint of ice cream) that now I’ll have to wait a whole month until the next First Day of the Month rolls around.

“So why don’t you simply start on the second?” I hear one wise-ass curious and interested reader ask.

And I pretend I didn’t hear said reader, what with the Chariots of Fire score still ringing in my ears.

Seriously though, I’m happy to report that today has been a bit more productive than other First of the Months of yore.

Sure, I started off as usual with the coffee and the reclining and the fantasy, but – and this must be a sure sign that Fantasy Me is already getting fitter – I finished the fantasy racing-and-getting-skinny a bit sooner than usual this afternoon, so I actually had time to fit in some real exercise of my own today, outside of these flights of fancy. And you’d better be VERY proud of me because I actually did the exercise I set out to do:

Instead of walking, I ran to the refrigerator for my second helping of ice cream!

Phew! Now it's time for a nap.