There comes a time in everyone's diagnosis when reality sets in. This is forever. Now I know there's a possibility of a cure in my lifetime, but I'm really not counting on it. Not like I'm being cynical or negative or anything. All I'm saying is that I can't live my life clinging to that kind of hope. Hope is good, but I feel like I have to be realistic. I'd rather be proven wrong on this one than live my life anticipating something that may never happen.

With that in mind, I can be pretty hard on myself in all aspects of my life. My writing, my photography, my parenting skills, my wifery, my diabetes management, my walking routine. Even though The Mr. tells me all the time that I'm an excellent writer and that my photography skills are awesome, I still feel like he's blowing smoke. OK, deep down I know he's not blowing smoke, but I am my own worst critic.

So I've been pretty hard on myself this week. Today (Saturday) was the first day since Monday that I took my morning walk. I really had to talk myself into it, too. Fortunately, I didn't have any time restraints, like trying to get to work on time. But in the back of my mind, I knew that as soon as I got out there again I'd remember how good it feels to go and how good I feel all day and how much better my numbers are when I exercise. In fact, I had tried to use that argument on myself a number of times this week when I clung to the bed at 5:30 a.m.

For lack of a better cliche, I've started telling myself that my diabetes management has to be like a marathon, not a sprint. I have to take it day by day and not be so hard on myself. I mean, really, in the scheme of things, in the course of my life, is the last five days without 30 minutes of daily exercise really going to make that big of a difference? No, it's not. Some people may really disagree with me, but the stress I've put on myself this last week beating myself up about not walking is almost worse for me than actually not exercising.

Maybe I just needed a vacation.