The dew is off the rose....

L. is our dog. He's a wonderful little dog. He's a little chihuahua/terrier mix.

Go ahead and die with the cuteness!

His interests include: snuggling, long walks off leash, barking ferociously at anyone who dares to walk on our block (anywhere on it), treats, lounging, sleeping and trying to make friends with the cat. He's pretty great with voice recall and making cute little sighing noises that make you want to pick him up and just eat him to pieces....Oh NOM, NOM, NOM delightful canine!

      Awwwwwwwwwww!

Things he is not interested in include, but are not limited to: other dogs, TV and HOLDING IT UNTIL WE TELL HIM IT'S MORNING AND TIME TO GO OUTSIDE NOW.

We're lucky enough to live in a place in San Francisco that has a huge backyard, so while we initially tried to freeze him out when he starts in with the whining at dark o'clock, we've had to learn the hard way that he usually won't just hold it, and we get up in the freezing cold and let him out back where he does what he needs to and then scampers back to the warmth of the floor, his dog bed, OK, FINE! our bed. He sleeps in our bed. I am not made of wood, people! The face! The ears! The smooshy sighs. Come on! Sadly, it appears our dog has a bladder the size of a mandarin orange segment. Now, on a night when we're not getting up at 5:40 to work out this is usually not a problem. A 5 minute interruption and everyone goes back to sleep.

This morning it didn't go down that way. We all ended up waking up at approximately 5:00 and then H/BF couldn't go back to sleep. At least it seemed like that from all the sighing, thrashing, turning and fidgeting that then kept ME awake. I believe I've referenced my affinity for sleeping before, so let me assure you that by the time the alarm went off, I was less than well pleased. Of course, being the mature, responsible adult that I am, I got out of bed and wished dear H/BF all the best for a wonderful day, while skipping to my car.

Anyway, that very lengthy diversion was all meant to culminate in this extremely obvious point:

WORKING OUT IS HARD.

For the past two weeks I've been coasting on the novelty of doing something new, using muscles I've never used before, fancying myself an "exerciser" now, but I've got to say, this week it's just been hitting me that this really is going to have to be a lifestyle thing and a commitment. It's not a fad. It's not dependent on what else is going on. It's not always going to be exciting or strange. It's hard. It's hard to get up when you've had too much wine the night before/deal with a dog who's got your wrapped around his paw. It's hard to box for an hour straight in the early morning light. It's hard to do ab work when you're lying in a pool of your own sweat. It's hard to keep trying at  push-ups although you STILL can't do a full one (getting closer, I can feel it). Hard to do some footwork exercises like I'm in the 49ers training camp, although I'm the only 49er with the motor skills of a stroke victim. It's all hard, but you know what? Maybe that's OK. It's getting easier all the time. Never easy, but easier.

And it's going to be hard for that dog to live with being crated at night until he learns to hold it, too.