Like Crack, But Good For You

This is my friend Elizabeth. This picture is payback for getting me hooked on early morning exercising, then making it harder to get my fix.

Last summer I started exercising with my friends Lacie and Elizabeth. It all started out innocent enough. I'd get up around 6:30 a few mornings each week and meet them for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. It was easy. It was fun. It felt good. It was also addictive.

Fast-forward to August of last year. Elizabeth, the orchestra teacher for the rival school district across the river, was going to resume her suicidal schedule of teaching private violin lessons before and after school. That basically meant that she would be teaching for 14 hours a day, five days a week. Being the sadistic school teacher that she is, she wasn't content to suffer alone. No, she had to drag her friends into it. So in order to continue to exercise with her, Lacie and I had to get up at what my friend Brook refers to as "the butt crack of dawn." And not just a few days a week either. Elizabeth decided we need more variety to our daily workouts, so she added a weight lifting routine to our walk-less days. So now my mornings start like this...

My alarm goes off...and I think mean and nasty thoughts about Elizabeth. Then I pull on warm clothes (our temps still dip below freezing at night) and meet up with Lacie and Elizabeth.

There are a few nice things about walking around town this early. The first is that there aren't many people around to notice our early-morning ugliness.

The second is the totally Zen feeling that comes from starting each school day watching the sun rise. By the time I get home, I have forgiven Elizabeth for dragging my carcass out of bed at such an obscene hour.

Of course, that forgiveness only lasts until my alarm goes off the next morning.

My First Post

Once upon a time, I left the thriving metropolis that is my home town to teach at a junior high in the middle of farm country. Almost four years later, it is hard for me to believe that I have ever lived anywhere else. Cowboy boots are a vital part of my professional wardrobe. I have accepted the fact that I will see at least 3 of my students and/or former students everytime I leave my apartment. I love that there are more cows in my town than people.

I adore that "rush hour" lasts from 5 to 5:15 p.m. along one of the two streets in town that have stop lights. I can identify crops from quick glances while driving past fields at highway speeds. And perhaps most importantly, I can disinguish between the subtle differences in the smells of cow manure and horse manure. I shoot potato guns, gush over 4-H pigs, dig my car out of truck-sized snow drifts, and I'm living happily ever after.