Starting is the hardest part . . .

I'm coming to terms with serious clutter, low energy, and overwhelm--that's what happens when I'm not "running" (as in busy-ness) all the time. Ironically, though, I've started running in the morning on my treadmill after a dire cholesterol wake-up call. For months I've been telling myself there is just no way I can find an hour a day for exercise. I do yoga a few times a week, and beginning belly dancing, but any more time allotted to exercise and I wouldn't be a writer (as well as a professor, a department chair, a mother, a spouse of a consultant who's been away from home a lot). Then, in the Doctor's office, while waiting and leafing through magazines, I read that someone, as a child, had been given a plaque by her mother that said: "Just begin--starting is the hardest part." At the end of the interview with my Doctor, an energetic, intelligent, efficient, but compassionate married mother of three, I blurted out--"Well, I think I could do ten minutes a day on the treadmill. But I don't know if it would make a difference."

"It would make a tremendous difference," she said. "That's exactly what we're supposed to encourage people to do. Ten minutes a day would be huge. Why don't you try that for six weeks and then we'll retest your cholesterol to see how you are doing?"

I came home and did twenty minutes, mostly because that's the smallest amount of time for which I can automatically program the treadmill, and I'm not much of a whiz with electronic devices. After doing the treadmill I felt better physically, but still really crappy in a spiritual sense. And this is my "spring" break week, the week I don't have to teach. I opted just to stay at home, and not "run" anywhere. Instead, I was going to get a lot done by staying put. Read all those student papers. Finish an article. Edit my new poetry manuscript. Clean and reorganize every room in the house. Take all the recycling out of the garage through the snow to the bins. Sort through my books and give at least one third away. By the time I faced this impossible mountain I felt my chest cave in. I could hardly breathe. Geez. It takes this much drama to get me to face the clutter in my life? No wonder I never want to stay home on vacations! No wonder I think I need Starbucks.

I've cleared out an old desk next to the treadmill in the basement. I don't want anyone to fill it with anything, least of all myself. I ran again this morning, and contemplated the one uncluttered space in the house. A place to begin again. Starting is the hardest part . . . and I feel just a little bit less stuck.