I Owe You An Apology....

Today I began a workout regimen with a personal trainer. I rose early. Four-fifteen to be exact. I hardly slept, excited about this new beginning. Excited about the new clothes that I will be “forced” to buy for my new body. I am so appreciative of the blessing that my trainer, Keith Castillo and his wife, B.J. have afforded me. In addition to working this body out, they are committed to assisting me with making lifelong lifestyle changes. (Check them out at www.whereyoubecometheart.com.) As usual, I will document my progress in words and in pictures. I would rather wait until I’ve gotten through the first month before posting a pic. Vanity. But, I won’t compromise, so expect my “before” photo after my Wednesday session. This regimen is an outward expression of the spiritual conditioning I have been going through. Mind must match the body; body must match the mind.

However, I had to apologize to my body this morning. Right after I got out of the shower, I looked at myself in the fogged up mirror, still able to see all of my wobbly bits, and said it. “I’m sorry.” I told my body I was sorry for every foul thing I’ve ever said about it, put in it, and taken it through. I didn’t mean it. Really I didn’t. I asked my body to forgive me. I have been putting my body off for far too long. Each ripple, curve and wobbly-bit received personal attention from me this morning. While I lovingly rubbed body butter into my arms, I apologized to them for sometimes taking on too much. I massaged my shoulders and told them I loved them and thanked them for being so strong sometimes. I liberally covered each and every inch of me with the Victoria’s Secret Strawberries and Cream, slowing down over my hips, back and thighs. I apologized to my hips and thighs. I told my back I was sorry for the stress and strain and for not sitting up straight. I apologized to my belly for all the excess weight. I apologized to my body for neglecting it; for sometimes not protecting it. I promised my body I would do better if it would just give me a second chance. A second wind. An opportunity to learn how to love it all over again. I took special time with my feet. They have been so very good to me. They deserve special attention. Honorable mentions. They have held me up on weary days in cheap shoes. They’ve refused to let me fall, stumble or slip. When I can, I am going to buy my feet some beautiful, expensive shoes that show off my toes. Feet need to know that they are appreciated. I apologized to my stretch marks for not honoring them. For being ashamed of them and for trying to forget them. No matter what, they are mine. I earned them by bringing three bright and wonderful children into this world. No shame in that. Not anymore. I apologized to my lungs for the years I abused them by smoking. I owed my liver a long overdue apology for the club years, the hard liquor years, the Long Island Ice Tea and Rum and Coke years. I told my heart I was sorry for giving it away to all the people that didn’t deserve it, abused it and then left it broken.

And then…

I had to apologize for the pain I was about to take it through in getting it back in shape, I asked it not to give out on me, to hang in there with me. I apologized to my knees and ankles upfront because I knew they would have a hard time adjusting to the shock of walkingrunningjogging after having been idle.

I promised to do better.

I will do better.

Just watch and see.




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The Letter.

This is a letter that my mother wrote to my father back in 1975. It is amazing that he kept it, even more amazing that after all this time it ended up in my hands. It is nothing but the grace of God in action. Reading it now, gives me insight into how she felt about me. It comforts me in a way that no one could possibly understand. Isn't it just like God to cause a thing to happen at one time, so that it can bring about a new feeling or emotion at another? She had no idea that I would read this at the time she wrote it.

It makes me fully comprehend the power of the pen. Makes me want to watch what I write and who I write it to. You never know where your words will end up and who will be reading them.

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