Even the voices in my head argue

I saw a 13.1 sticker on the car in front of me and I thought, I could do that.

Another voice, also in my head suggested someone should duct tape me to a wall.

Which is more crazy, considering a mini-marathon, or having conflicting voices inside my head?

Discovering exercise

I have joined a gym...twice. I would go, spend an hour, probably half of it wandering and wondering what to do next. For the most part, I hated it. I hated the girls that were made up way too much to dare break a sweat. I hated the testosterone laden grunting. I hated the leering glances between the two. I hated trying to take a private shower in a public place. I hated walking out in sweaty clothes. Most of all, I hated going back out to go to the gym once I was home from work.

Over the last couple of years, the weight had started creeping back up. I was knocking at the all time high weight that I swore I would never, ever, see again. So after much thought, probably over the course of a year, I bought a treadmill. It was not my first investment in exercise equipment, which is why it took so much thought. There is a lot of dusty equipment around my house. A treadmill would be my largest financial investment, and I had to be sure it wasn't a reason to keep the door shut.

Bought the treadmill the first part of May. Got a good deal on a Fitbit Flex, which arrived May 21. On June 19, I finished my first 5K. I walked it, no speed barriers broken, but I did it. I finished it. I had enough energy to sprint at the end. I danced afterwards and even went for a walk when my Fitbit said I needed 2000 more steps to hit the 15,000 step goal for the first time.

I have walked over 3 miles, on top of my daily steps, three of the last four days. The exercise is beginning to feel like a reward in itself. Great stress relief. I think it will be a habit. 

Plus, I'm down 12 pounds. Heading in the right direction.

Perspective

When I was 18, I got married, and I thought I was an adult.

When I was 19, I bought a house, and I thought I was an adult.

When I was 21, I decided to have a baby, and I thought I was an adult.

When I was 22, my first son was born, and I thought I was an adult.

Legally, I was an adult. When my sons turned 18, 19, 21, 22, I compared their lives to mine. I couldn't imagine them deciding to get married at 18. They still seemed so very young to me. It's only been in the last few years, in their mid-late 20's, that I can picture them as grown men. I imagine my parents felt the same way.