Carrot and Stick

Inspirational song: Deserve (Marillion)

I want to dedicate every calorie I burned today to Danny Elfman. I really had to force myself to the gym today, and the first six or seven minutes on the elliptical were a horrible slog. Then Dead Man's Party came through my earphones, and it was just the right groove to get me moving. I conquered my reluctance, broke through that wall you always hear about, and gladly did a half hour of cardio and an hour of weights. I was having so much fun, I "rewarded" myself with an extra set on my favorite machine (leg press), with an extra 20 pounds on the stack. I don't get it. I really feel fantastic when I go there, for water aerobics or lifting. Why is it so hard to get myself out there more than once or twice a week?

When I left, feeling triumphant, I had a couple of options. I could tell myself I worked hard enough, and go to a drive-thru restaurant and eat twice as many calories as I'd burned, and a ton of chemicals I didn't need. Or, I could keep the steel in my spine for another hour, and go to Publix for real food. This time I rewarded myself in advance for choosing the better option. I went to Publix via the last few hours of a sale featuring an extra 40% off clearance priced handbags. I know, I know. Sometimes, I'm really just a girl, and comforted like one. But it was my favorite brand of purse, for less than 30% of its retail price... That felt like a hell of a prize for working out and eating right.

The grocery store held one final reward for the day, something I didn't expect at all. I was nearly done, with a shopping cart full of healthy fruits, vegetables, and antibiotic- and hormone-free meats, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of an elusive unicorn. Wait, let me back up a bit. A dozen years ago, when we lived in the Central Coast of California, the grocery store we frequented carried frozen kosher cheese blintzes. They were my favorite guilty pleasure, taking into account we lived in wine country and had access to the best strawberries and barbecued tri-tip imaginable. Then one day, they disappeared from the store, and I have combed every freezer aisle since, in the vain attempt to find them again. The memory of them grew, blew out of proportion, until it was as falsely perfect as the memory of a first love. Suddenly, here they are. I don't think these are the same brand. But I don't care. I grabbed them, and ran back for strawberries, and had to race through the checkout lane before I broke out in big, wet tears, I was so childishly happy. I'm saving them for breakfast, so I have a night to savor the prospect of them before the reality sets in that they're just frozen cottage cheese crepes.