Day Eight, like a stone falling quicker
If we were dying in 37 days, as did the man who sparked all this, we would likely want to slow down the days, lengthen them, stay as long as possible. As we got closer to the end, they would likely speed up, dashing past, a lifetime in a few hours, fast speeding past, the end. We would regret this speeding up. We would dig our heels in and try to stop, most likely.And yet, in challenging ourselves to do one small thing for 37 days, we often want them to pass quickly, hurry up and get over with, go.
How was day eight for you?
Mine was full of driving, a beautiful reading from Life is a Verb at Panopolie in Raleigh, and now a hotel. Here's the best travel advice I have for you: when you get to your hotel, work out within 30 minutes of checking in. Make it A Rule. If you don't do it within 30 minutes, you never will. You'll settle in, take your shoes off, open your laptop and fall into a Big Hole. You'll scrounge around in your carry-on bag for Pop-Tart crumbs. You'll turn on the TV, flip channels to HBO and be mesmerized by some show about snakes swallowing young pheasants whole, and suddenly it will be midnight.
These are all purely hypothetical examples.
So, rather than fall into that trap, check into your hotel, go put your tennis shoes on immediately, and work out before your brain has a chance to catch up.
Then it's done. You can get back to the snake show.
Happy Day Eight. It can only mean that nine is tomorrow. Nine is magical. It has the scent of fulfillment.