I ignored the treadmill this morning. Of course, I regret that decision now because I’m sitting at my desk all sluggish and Mondayish, and I know fifteen minutes at 3.0 miles per hour would have changed my whole perspective. It is pretty shameful to admit that is my minimum daily requirement on the dreaded machine. Every expert will tell you thirty minutes per day is the least one should require of one’s fifty-three year old body. But those fifteen minutes are magical for me. They make all the difference in whether I feel energetic and optimistic for the next fifteen hours.

My writing discipline works much the same way. I can think of a zillion reasons to avoid my beautiful writing desk when I get home from work each night. Supper, dishes, laundry, the latest update on the Fox News Channel. (The first three are really lame excuses. My husband normally fends for himself after work so I can have time to write. He even does the laundry and vacuums the floor.)

And, if I obey my own rules and sit down with my computer for a few minutes, this amazing thing happens. I write. The blank spot in my brain suddenly clicks on as if someone hit the remote control, and words start jumping up and getting to work. When I finish a few hours later, I feel almost exactly the way I feel after a good trek on the treadmill. Energized, optimistic, and too wound up to go to sleep.

The thing is, I’m not sure how to overcome my own resistance to what I know is good for me.Well, that isn’t true. I do know. I know I always make the right decision when I allow the power of the Holy Spirit to work inside me. Left to myself, I usually choose the sofa and a bowl of ice cream.

So, I’m going to say a prayer on the way home tonight. Maybe I’ll do the treadmill (as penance) and then write a chapter or two. Well, okay, at least I’ll write.