Meeting Murphy:

"Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong," is an adage I grew up with called Murphy’s Law. In my twenties I heard a little ‘extra’ to this quote."Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way."

I’m certain an ancestor of mine wrote this. My husband however claims it was his irish ancestors. (On a side note; He is a little more fond of his Scottish background than the Irish. You must understand he grew up with Irish jigs and lots of green; both of which he loathes now. He usually only claims his Irish side when troubles arise ) Nevertheless, I’m doubly screwed I think

Its rather telling than many sayings I learned in my childhood were along this particular inspiring frame of thought such as; “If it rains, it pours” “Death comes in three’s” “bad things happen to good people” and many more.

I know your thinking; Whatever! Did you exercise or is this your flimsy excuse for ducking out? My dear friends. I did not exercise on Friday. Oh no! Murphy’s law was enabled and I spend the whole day alternating between the Master Throne and the Master Bed. My husband kindly cracked the windows open and kept me supplied with liquids. The good thing about this was I was so ill I didn’t notice any muscle pains. “If you have lemons than make lemonade”

So Saturday then? Alas.. I was running around Saturday but I had the forethought to wear my daughters pedometer and walked almost 2 miles before the thing broke. (Ahah!) So in a way I did exercise. My stomach was still a teensy weeny bit off so I decided to give the treadmill another day off. I kept telling myself that it was a smart decision.

The decision not to exercise plaqued me all night. It is amazing how much emotional traumu I associate with exercising. Ovbously some self esteem issues buried beneath but I’ll only share the juicy tidbits... eventually.

Despite a slight headache from a rotten night of sleep; I prevailed and got back on the treadmill today. Killer work-out so I hope that helps me sleep better. 2.2-3.8 on the treadmill scale killing 160 calories.

There was a surpise for me when I went to the basement. While I had been sick, my husband had put up a huge picture of a beach up in front of the treadmill. I had bought the picture from Ikea ages ago for this exact purpose but never put it up. This is much more pleasant than looking at bare concrete walls. I do love my Irish-Scottish mixed up man. “Tell me whom you love and I'll tell you who you are”

Ps. I’m not making this up! I went to spellcheck this and my spellcheck is NOT Working! So screwed…