It's the first weekend of our FFF goal achieving event and I've taken the world by storm. My Fitbit is programmed and ready to track my steps (goal of 50,000 per week) and my new MP3 player is loaded with my all time favorite motivational tunes. I've got friends and a trainer lined up to get and keep me at the gym three times per week. I have a fridge full of healthy food and a Green Smoothie recipe book on my counter (lose 11-16 pounds in a year). I have a box of photos and memorabilia on the kitchen table to begin the de-clutter goal with a pile of interesting memories. AND, I've promised myself to start writing, with a fellow blogger on board to read a chapter a week and hold me accountable. With one foot in front of the other, I made my way out the door.
It was a cold, crisp afternoon with bright patches of sunlight dancing on thick green grass at the local park. Ed Sheeran's Thinking Out Loud filled my ears as I marched along the sidewalk, determined to hit 10,000 steps and send my Fitbit into an orgasmic spell; flashing, vibrating, and erupting in celebration of one goal met. With each step, my mind envisioned Eric coming home to a stronger, thinner, healthier wife and I calculated the next post I would share with my participating blog friends as well as those in the cheerleader role. Suddenly, the music changed, as though a DJ was mixing in a sloppy transition to the next track. Confused, I popped an ear bud out and looked to see where this nursery school version of All Around the Mulberry Bush was coming from.
There, at the far side of the parking lot, a bright red squarish van covered with 4 foot wrap around stickers of every kind of ice cream known to man was perched, waiting like a bug trap on a summer evening in the south. Small kids and their parents scrambled to get to the truck, dollars in hand, yelling out orders for rocket pops, ice cream sandwiches, or my childhood favorite, fudgcicles. I smiled, turned the corner with a head full of memories of back in the day when the ice cream truck visited my neighborhood, and continued on my walk.
About ten minutes in, the cheerful hum of another nursery tune came sneaking up behind me, creeping along in slow motion, beckoning me. I turned down a side street and thought nothing more of it until, you guessed it, the darn truck turned the corner as well. Picking up my pace, I scooted down another block and made a quick left to escape temptation. Sure enough, blatantly obvious, it took the same turn and catching up to me, rode steadily beside me, in time with my feet. I knew I couldn't outrun it so I purposely slowed way down until the driver gave up and moved on. I breathed a sigh of relief as the road curved ahead and the vision of sweet cold dairy delights vanished out of view.
Eventually, I hit the turn and there, at the end of the block, nestled in a cul-de-sac, it sat. Waiting. Like a crocodile in the swamp or a shark in the ocean. I panicked. There was nowhere to run. My only choice was to turn back. I made it home with 7200 steps recorded but I escaped the stalker without giving in. Perhaps this weekend I'll invest in a set of blinders like horses wear and some ear plugs to keep me safe from the red devil truck.
Home again, I sifted through some email only to find a list of absurd demands from my boss and suddenly the ice cream truck seemed like a good option. Geez. Way to test me on the first day of getting on track! The guy won't give me a break, and I don't mean time off. I just mean to do the job I was hired to do. He's got me running all over the place and there is no rhyme or reason to what he demands. Eric is back in two weeks. He's all spun up because of his client and I'm still wound up because of my boss.
"SPANK ME!" I say to him every night. "I SO NEED TO SPANK YOU," he says to me every night. Thank goodness we found something that helps us both manage stress!
Time for more steps!