It Doesn't Get Easier?

I work on the 4th floor of a four-story building. There is one main set of two elevators. They're unbearably slow most days.

Yet I never take the stairs. Why?

Well, one of the reasons is that I usually have heels on and the combination of steps and heels kills my knees. The other, probably more important reason, is that no matter how many days in a row I do take the stairs, they never seem to get easier. And I hate being all hot, sweaty, huffy and puffy first thing in the workday.

As I pounded away on the treadmill this morning, I was thinking about those stairs. And the metaphor.

I had a hard time getting to the blessed treadmill today. I lazed in bed for a while. Then I got up and did a load of laundry. And cleaned the hard water deposits out of the guest bath faucet. And put away the clean dishes. And sprayed the doorways for ants. You get the idea. I was delaying my trip down the stairs because I was tired and just wasn't feeling it.

It has been a long week. The stress at work is palpable. And exhausting. I had a friend in from out of town and that meant a sort of goofed up (though completely enjoyable!) schedule ... later nights, eating out, eating late. And the whole impending Father's Day left me weepy and emotional. All of those things  were playing games with my head. I started to look for reasons that I shouldn't go downstairs. I needed more sleep. I needed some catch-up time. I deserved a day off.

But I finally chose to remember that whether I wanted to or not, I needed to. Wanting to is irrelevant.

The first mile, the first slow mile, was hard. I was sweating. A lot. And I kept thinking, "Why doesn't this ever get easier? I do it every blasted day. It should get easier."

As I was thinking about it, and the stairs, I looked down at the odometer. It said I'd gone two miles.

Then it occurred to me, the first mile might not get easier. But the ones AFTER that do. If you just start. But you gotta start.

How's that for a metaphor?