If there's one thing I've learned about prayer it's that sometimes you have to be pretty specific. As you know, I've been having trouble getting up in the morning with enough time for my walk.

So last night as I was doing my bedtime routine, I chanted over and over, "God, please help me get up in time to walk tomorrow." I really wanted to cover all my bases: I set my alarm 10 minutes earlier and decided to take advantage of the dual alarm and set "alarm 1" for 5:30 a.m. and "alarm 2" for 5:35 a.m. so that I'd really be bombarded with noise--and often!

I remember screaming at my alarm clock to "stop it!" about the same time The Mr. rolled over to snuggle with me. I'm not sure if he heard me in his sleep, but I was well aware of the horrible timing of my comment. I got up roughly five or ten minutes earlier than I have been, although I kept trying to convince myself that I didn't need to get up that early. I brushed my teeth, took my pre-breakfast meds and dressed in my sweats since a cold-front came through yesterday. I stood in the bathroom and seriously thought about whether or not I really wanted to do this. My stomach was making weird noises and I remembered the two sick days my editor just took. I didn't really want to be in the middle of my walk and stop to, well, toss my cookies. I convinced myself that I was just making excuses and to get on with it. So I checked on the kids and creeped down the old wooden stairs. A quick blood sugar check told me it was OK to walk this morning. But then I heard the wind chimes on the back porch singing furiously, and I heard the trees' remaining leaves make noise like crumpled tissue paper. I remembered yesterday's weather forecast and checked the outside thermometer. I'd need earmuffs for this walk. I sighed heavily. No, I didn't really want to do this.

"Oh, come on!" I yelled at myself. "You started your walking routine in February when it's colder than it is now. Wuss."

My internal motivation was actually working. I started toward the refrigerator for my 15-gram yogurt "snackfast". And then that darn devil appeared on my shoulder again. Did I really want to force myself to do something I wasn't going to enjoy? Because this morning really would have been a struggle. I simply didn't want to go. I don't know why. I just didn't want to. I looked at the clock. I could get another 40 minutes of sleep.

So I did. Crawled back in bed with my exercise clothes still on and my hair still up. I've really got to work on this.