The treadmill and I are becoming reacquainted. Interesting - I don't hate it. Never have. Actually, I really like the treadmill. I like walking uphill, singing silently at the top of my lungs along with whatever's on my iPod at the moment. Dancing around, wiggling my ass and flailing about like I'm having some sort of spasm that threatens to throw me off the belt. I get lost in that hour, reading on my kindle, dancing, and belting out noiseless tunes like a diva that was visited by the coordination fairy.
It's the getting off my ass and interrupting my busy day of doing nothing that keeps me from it. The apathy that makes me whine about not wanting to do it. All the stuff from my desk or my couch to the belt starting that gets in the way. But for now, I've started moving.
I've also refrained from ordering any pizza or bringing home any grease-spotted bags over the last week. Still have a ways to go to eliminate all the crap, but I'm baby-stepping that way. Maybe next week...