It's 9:45 p.m. Sunday night and I'm sifting through the clean laundry basket in search of socks for tomorrow's early morning walk. Because I promised myself that I'd start tomorrow. I've talked to myself all weekend, saying things like, "Remember, you're going to get up and walk on Monday morning." Saying it cheerfully in my head and actually doing it are very different accomplishments.

I can feel it already. The struggle I'll have in the morning of simply not wanting to get out of bed. It's 9:45 p.m. and I said I'd be in bed by 10 p.m., but so far I haven't worked toward that. It's going to be a struggle in the morning and I know I'm going to have to fight to get my overweight ass out of bed.

Please, God, give me the strength to get out of bed in the morning and actually go for a walk.

I know that once I get out there I will love feeling the burn in my leg muscles, I will love breathing in the crisp morning air, I know my feet will remember the path. I know that when I get home I will feel so wonderful, so invigorated, so ready to do it the next day.

Why is it so hard to just take that first step sometimes? That struggle to get out of bed is the hardest thing I'll deal with tomorrow. Well, that and walking Sarge. And even though I'm feeling the tug right now to stay in bed (especially since I've been feeling sick all weekend), I'm pretty confident that I'll (eventually) get out of bed tomorrow. OK, OK, I'm totally kidding. I'm going to find Sarge's leash, go upstairs to set my alarm about 20 minutes earlier than usual, set an alarm for The Mr., gather my walking clothes, say another prayer and go to sleep.

Wish me luck...I'm gonna need it.