Atrophy

Winter is my off season. It's my I-don't-want-to-go-outside season; my hibernation season; my just-get-through-it season. January is especially hard. It's cold and dark and gray and dismal. The sun doesn't shine for days and I seem to lose my sparkle.

I've had to get creative with my workouts. No running outdoors in this weather. It's snow-covered ice and dangerous windchills. I've been itching for a good run outside; a run to make the sweat drip and the swirling thoughts to fly away. My leg muscles don't feel as strong and they need to be exercised and so do my writing ones. I've neglected this little spot of mine. My leg muscles and my writing muscles go hand-in-hand, though. Some of my best thoughts come to me when I'm running. Today, I ran 90 flights of stairs. Up and down, up and down. It's a miracle I didn't fall down those stairs. Up and down and up again. I blasted the music, set up Barney for the littlest one, and ran and ran and ran. The sweat was dripping and the blood was flowing and I.was.happy. Twenty minutes and 1080 stairs and the swirling thoughts, they were freed. 

I can't let atrophy set in; not in my leg muscles or my writing ones.

Today the sun is out. There is fresh snow on the ground and it is beautiful; all sparkly and glittery and when I stepped outside I didn't feel as if I had been slapped in the face with the wind.

January is over and February is short and the sunlight hours are getting longer and I feel half alive again. My soul is starting to thaw and I feel the promise of the spring.