The magic of exercise

My day started off badly this morning. I didn't sleep well last night (due to fibromyalgia pain and a bad cold), and when I don't sleep well, I cannot handle even the tiniest task or challenge. For some reason I felt fat today, even though I weighed 1.4 lbs less this morning than I did yesterday morning. Somehow my inner vision of Fat Jean got projected into my mirror (I sure would like to know how to do that kind of magic). Our paper-loving dog stole my "to do" list off the kitchen table (we're wondering if Jinx has a vitamin/mineral deficiency, or some kind of weird eating disorder) and ate it. I screamed at him and caused our neurotic dog Meg to do her panicked-pee-on-the-rug thing at the sound of Psycho Grammy's voice. When I got dressed, I put my shirt on backwards (further reinforcing the poor self-image). My socks (too big, from fat days, but too good to throw out) kept getting wadded up inside my sneakers. I got out to my car only to realize I'd left my water bottle sitting on the kitchen table (just begging for attention from our plastic-loving dog, Berry). As I drove to the fitness studio, I slowed down for a 30 mph zone where I have twice been caught in speed traps (almost lost my license) and created a parade of angry motorists behind me. And so on, and so on.

None of those were disasters of cosmic proportion, but they felt that way. Until about 5 minutes into my body toning class. I guess the endorphins started firing then, because I found myself smiling even through the hardest moves. When I walked out the door after class, I was no longer Psycho Grammy. I'm not saying I was (or ever will be) completely sane, but I was much, much better than I had been when I fell out of bed this morning. All thanks to the magic of exercise.

If I could put that magic in a bottle and sell it, I'd be a multimillionaire. Unfortunately, the only way you can obtain it is to do it yourself.