Sweat.

It has always been a dirty word to me.

Now, I know it's necessary. I don't really like it any more than I used to, I've just come to a point of acceptance:

I must move my body to be healthy.

I've tried for years to get around this simple fact, and there are a host of stories, memories, humilations, and chaotic moments that chased me through the last 34 years of avoiding exercise. I'm sure I'll get to some of them later.

For now, the goal is simple. 20 minutes. Every day.

I started on June 18, the same day as the breakdown. Breakthrough?

So far, so good. 2o minutes of treadmill (my perpetual nemesis), elliptical (my albatross), or recumbant bike (my refuge on days of low motivation).

Today, I did 40, and it feels damn good. 30 on the elliptical and 10 on the treadmill. I'm pretty sure I'll feel this in the morning, but right now, I'm focusing on the positive.

I did 40 minutes of exercise. I got my heart rate up, and it did not kill me.

Right now, non-dead is a blessing.