One winter evening, I had a reminder of how good I used to feel after a walk. It was freezing outside, but the walls of the house were closing in. The kids were screaming, there were dishes to be done, dinner to be made, everyone wanted something from me, but Super Mom needed a vacation.

"I'm taking the dog for a walk," I said to my husband.

Off I went, but not on my normal walking route. My intention was just to clear my head and to be alone. To just take a leisurely walk. But I could feel the drive to walk intensify. My sneakers pounded the pavement and that sound of rubber on asphalt and grinding sandy dirt under my shoes was all I could hear on that evening in my sleepy town.

Man, this feels good! I thought to myself.
Man, oh, man, does this ever feel good!

I walked farther and farther and kept going faster and faster. My face was freezing, my nose was running, but by God I wasn't stopping.

That seemed to be the kick in the pants I needed. The snow had melted, the morning temps were no longer in the teens, there were no more excuses.

But, I didn't that next morning. That desire to get out again had faded by the time I set my alarm for the next morning. I felt guilty, which I think is good, because I think it means I was getting closer to actually getting up earlier.

In fact, the next morning, I remember that I only hit snooze three times and got up much earlier than I had on previous mornings. I wasn't shocked into consciousness looking at the clock and realizing that we were all going to be late because I had overslept again.

For two days in a row after that walk I set my alarm for 5:20 a.m. and reminded myself of the theme song I'd been repeating: I will walk tomorrow morning. I will walk tomorrow morning. I will walk tomorrow morning. I set out my grubby clothes, knew where my sneakers were and prepared myself for a bland, chewy peanut butter sandwich at 5:30 a.m.

The first morning, I woke up promptly with my alarm, hit snooze and thought to myself that another 9 minutes of sleep was all I needed. However, when I jerked awake at 5:38 a.m. having obviously fumbled through an alarm at 5:29 a.m., I realized I didn't have enough time to get up and get myself motivated for a walk and to be back in enough time to get the rest of the family ready for the day. I realized something else, too: I had conditioned myself to hitting snooze. So much so, that most of the time I don't even remember doing it.