smell the paint drying
I tiptoed back early from Jeff's family's Thanksgiving celebrations, in order to do the house chore I'd been putting off for a month. I'd had a gallon of light blue paint sitting on the back floorboard of my car for a month, and it had been quietly taunting me every time I saw it."You don't have the time or energy to paint with me, do you?"
Every time I got in my car the week of Thanksgiving, I stuck my tongue out at it.
Thursday afternoon, comfortably sleepy on turkey and "fixins" -- although, I might add, at about zero vegetables for the day -- I made myself a plate of Thanksgiving food to go, wrapped it in foil, and drove home. Jeff needed to stay another night at his parents' to work on their computers (it wouldn't be a major holiday for geeks if we didn't work on someone's computer) and I was determined to get this painting done.
Off day, you see. An enforced off day at that.
I'm still working out six days per week, and doing both swims and elliptical work each day if I can manage it. Truthfully, most days, I can. However, I was having trouble finding the time and the energy to tape up the guest bedroom and get it painted.
So, I reasoned, if I'm too tired, then that means I have to do it on an off day. Most of those fall on weekends, which would suck for Jeff, because he'd have to smell the paint drying. Why not do it the day after Thanksgiving? Everything's closed, no one will be here, and there will be no one to grump about it but me and the cats.
So, the night of Thanksgiving, I warmed up my carefully-transported leftovers and ate them on the couch, talking to Edmund all the while. Afterward, I popped open the canister of blue paint and got to work.
For two nights in a row I slept with blue spots in my hair.
It's Sunday now. The cats are still deeply distrustful of how "their" room smells now. Jeff is home, having done his familial computer duties. Principal painting is done; all that remains is to take the edge tape down, touch up whatever bad spots I find, re-hang the bookshelves, and put the books back in their places.
A good thing, because the gym work starts back in earnest today. Three days off helped; the persistent tightness in my calves has eased a bit, and I'm curious to see how that will affect my swimming.
* * * * *
I'd love to lay off another day, but that's laziness taking a minor paint-based case of the sniffles and blowing its severity all out of proportion. Some days I love the gym work because of what it's done for me, and some days I really just want to sit on the couch, eat Triscuits, watch TV with Jeff and pull Tenzing's tail.
Today, those Triscuits look somewhere between heavenly and exquisite … but the calendar blares at me: fifty days until I fly!
I didn't set any major goals, because I wasn't going to cancel the trip if I didn't meet them. I deliberately chose to do these two-a-day workouts in the hope of putting myself in the best possible shape prior to flying out on January 16. (Not just for weight loss, but for cardio strength as well; the altitude difference between Alabama and Colorado is always rough on me.) My appearance and weight when I get on the plane that day will be what they will be. The end weight loss is not totally within my control, but my diligence in working out, and my attention to eating properly, are.
It's not all panic and sweat, though. It's starting to sink in that this is my major trip of the year, and how in the world am I going to pack for three height-of-winter weeks in Colorado and Utah high country?
This is gonna get interesting.
For now, though, it's time to head to the pool. The water's calling me, and my swimsuit hasn't been wet since Wednesday. It's time to fix that.
Paint photos soon.