The mornings flogging …
… today, my date at Cardiac Rehab looms like death over the left shoulder. Sitting here sippin’ my morning coffee as the clock ticks away toward that fateful moment when I climb into the car seat and start off to my appointment with perky Morgan, my “trainer”. Also known as Bruinhilda, the slave driver.
I try to focus on the mundane, such as noting that the pecan tree out front is in full dress this morning, the tree rose that ‘Becca the Beagledestructor chewed the bark off of is sending out canes with pink roses from the root graft, the bluebonnets and indian paintbrushes in the field are in full bloom, and the grass needs mowing.
But first, fifteen minutes on the recumbent, five minutes on the chest cranks, and fifteen minutes on the treadmill, cranking out electricity for the teaching hospital, all done under Bruinhilda’s flail.
Some days just aren’t for musing.