The war cannot go unfought. I must eradicate the enemy, as it lurks, smooth and heavy, waving, taunting. I must destroy. This is war.
The enemy? Arm flab.
Eww. It causes my cool-mama casual waves to turn into overeager jiggle-fests. It makes clothes that fit nicely everywhere else look strained and unattractive. Even my healthy tan can't hide the fact of soggy triceps. So, to battle.
The battle plan: at least fifteen minutes of "weight lifting" every morning. I know (because I read, not because I have ever entered a gym) that serious weight lifters need a day off between workouts. I have no intention of being a serious weight lifter. I am indeed not serious about much of anything. But I do own a pair of medium-small hand weights, one of those stretchy plastic band thingies, and a mostly-inflated yoga ball. So I put on the morning news, count repeatedly to sixteen, and lift-curl-push-press my way to tone arms.
Until yesterday. When the free television stations caused me to want to lift the weight of my dinosaur TV and throw it out the window. I almost opted for public television en espanol. Because apparently there was no news in the ENTIRE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA other than that Mr. Ted Kennedy had passed away overnight.
Mr. Senator Kennedy. Bless his heart*. I admit, I didn't try too hard, but I just could never make myself like that guy. In fact, I'm leaning toward the attitude that includes the words "world" and "better place" and "now that he's gone".
Call me calloused. Call me a freakish right-winger. Call me a mean, cold-hearted wench who would speak ill of the dead. But for heaven's sake, something else must have happened somewhere in the states, or even the world, that could have distracted my brain for fifteen minutes of yesterday morning.
Instead, I counted to sixteen over and over and over and over and over as I watched a bearded guy plane a board**. In real time.
I know, I know. If I had any character at all, I would have turned off the noise and enjoyed the moment. I would have listened to the thoughts in my head. I would have meditated. I would have become one with the pink weights in my hands.
Surprise! No character here. But another day done with a few minutes spent on the battlefield. When success comes, I'll let you know. I'll be the one waving casually, with only my hand.
*This is NiceLady code for "I have no kind words" - it fits nicely in any sentence where your mother's voice chants in your head "If you can't say anything nice, say nothing at all."
**As opposed to board a plane. Which might have been more interesting.
