Lately I've been lethargic in my writing . . . and that can only mean one thing: I'm out of shape. And so, this past Monday, I made sure I was the first person in the gym. I was there when the doors opened at 5 a.m. I busted my gut. Sweated. Then treated myself to a donut.
It's a life you have to lead to appreciate . . . coming home to write in the aftermath of a strenuous workout, along with the daily reminders that I ain't what I used to be and, at any moment, I could throw out my back, pull a hammie, or otherwise dislocate some important piece of anatomy.
Still, a writer does have to stay in condition. The mind works better when the body and spirit are in harmony and have been nourished on warm dough and hot coffee. I'll drink water after I die.
My winter doldrums have also seen my weight shooting back up toward 220 pounds. I'm much stronger, but with spring approaching I plan to slim up again when the sun starts shining. I may make this my Lenten goal, to give up these pounds while adding pounds on the barbell.
I've also gathered a sizable stack of writing goals on my desk: plans for books, essays, stories, poems, articles, blogs, clips, and quips. I'll get to them . . . one by one.
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