Wow! June already here, and the world is simply getting crazier. Mass shootings in the US, strange new diseases and variants making headlines, meteors coming closer to the Earth than ever, close friends losing relatives, or being seriously ill themselves, and insane weather patterns causing destruction unlike anything we’ve seen. And that was just last month. I shudder to think what this month will bring.
This month’s question is ” June 1 question – When the going gets tough writing the story, how do you keep yourself writing to the end? If have not started the writing yet, why do you think that is and what do you think could help you find your groove and start?
To be honest, my head gets so caught up in the dismal news that it saps my desire to write, so if I haven’t started a story, and there are a few on the backburner waiting for me, that’s probably the reason. It’s hard to write happy go lucky stories when the world around you seems to be falling apart, when people you know personally face pain and sorrow, and when there is no guarantee that tomorrow will be a better day.
As to the first part of the question, I tend to function better when I have a deadline to meet and some degree of pressure to do so. Left to my own devices, I usually manage to find other things that sap the time from me. If I have a deadline, I can get my butt in the seat and get things done. I may have to reread what I’ve written, if I’m stuck, but usually knowing time is running out is all it takes to get me motivated to finish. Sometimes, I find it hard to be as upbeat in the story, but I get it done.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. As hard as it is to believe, May is over and we’re on to June. Time certainly moves more quickly these days. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.
“Thanks.” E J turned to him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”
Before he could stop her, she was out the door and down the hall.
“Do you want to use the bathroom before you get into bed?” Betty asked, the suitcase already open in front of her.
He chuckled. “I would. If you’ll wheel me closer to the door, I can manage the last couple of meters with the crutches.”
She nodded. “Have you got pajamas in here?” She indicated his case.
“No, but I have boxers and t-shirt. It’s what I normally wear, and if you open the case, while they may be wrinkled, they’ll be welcome. My toiletries are in there, and I’ll brush my teeth. I don’t think I have the energy to eat.”
The woman smiled. “I’m sure you’re tuckered out. I doubt missing one meal will set your recovery back, but you must have your pills. I’ll take out what you need for tonight and look after the rest. You’ll see, back in your own clothing, with a good night’s sleep under your belt, you’ll be feeling better in no time.”
“I hope so. The last thing I want to be is a burden. It looks like Eden has enough on her plate.”
“Ach, E J’s fine. That girl’s a tough little cookie as Dwayne used to say. No matter how busy she is, she always finds time for those in need. I was quite disappointed when her wedding plans fell through, but then I never liked that Jeff. Not country born and bred—although I suppose I could say the same about you, but you have Dwayne’s genes. That will make a difference. A man who can’t stand to get his hands dirty isn’t what our E J needs. People around here would do anything for her. Now, you get yourself changed. I’ll get the bed ready, and you can get to sleep as soon as you’ve taken your meds. I’ll be staying up until eleven, and I’ve programmed my number into that cellphone. If you wake up and you need anything, just call. I’m right next door. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you and E J can get matters settled.”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Betty’s face grew stern. “That’s easy. Don’t hurt my girl.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Hard to believe we’ve had our first long weekend of summer, but the weather has been good, so here’s hoping for many more. This week, our word prompt is PIPE. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden, my contemporary romance.
Betty frowned. “Have you been doing breathing therapy?”
“Yes, ma’am. Twice a day using a blue plastic pipe that they gave me.”
“Good.”
“I told you that Betty would take care of you.” She chuckled. “Now, I’ll get your stuff inside. Do you want a quick tour now, or are you ready to lie down?”
“More than ready for that. I’m not going to be much company tonight I’m afraid.”
Eden shook her head as she grabbed his computer bag, suitcase, and crutches, handing him the bag with the breathing machine and the one from the drugstore.
Nodding his thanks, he let Betty push him up the ramp.
“Was this always here?” he asked as they navigated the ramp.
“No. E J had the boys whip it up a couple of days ago when she thought of borrowing the wheelchair.”
He looked up at her as she stood by the door. “Thank them for me.” He sighed. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Somehow, this wasn’t the way I’d planned to make myself known to you.” But maybe this was better. This way she would at least have a little sympathy for him.
She chuckled. “You can thank the guys from the garage yourself. As much as you might’ve enjoyed a lot of peace and quiet at the hospital, you’re going to be the main attraction around here for the next couple of weeks. You might as well get used to it—especially if you plan to stick around. Dwayne was well-liked and well-respected. People are going to want to meet his son.”
He wrinkled his brow in concern. Playing goldfish in the bowl wasn’t one of his favorite games. “Does everyone know our history?”
“No. That’s your story to tell, but I’m sure they have a lot of different theories.” She held the door open for him and Betty and then, bypassing the front of the house, led him down the hall. “My bedroom is over here on the left.” She indicated the door as they passed it. “The two on the other side are guest rooms that share a bathroom. I have my own, and there’s a powder room off the kitchen. Betty has an apartment attached to the back of the house. It used to be Dad’s smoking room before he gave up his pipe.” She opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped inside. “This was Dad’s room.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to the middle of May and this week’s Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with Trouble With Eden, my contemporary romance. Today we have a word prompt, CHEESE. I’ve used a variation of the word. Here’s your 400-word scene.
“So, are you getting another Mercedes?” she asked, pulling out of the hospital lot and onto the street.
“Yes. I’m not sure I would’ve done as well with a lighter car.”
“Those German cars are built to last. Too bad that moose didn’t watch where he was going. He didn’t make it, but I’m glad you did.” She bit her lip.
Jackson laughed and winced. “I am, too; otherwise, I would never have met you.”
“The feeling is mutual, although according to Uncle Eli, Dad was planning to contact you. The pandemic screwed up his plans—and everyone else’s, too. I understand you’re a writer from Toronto. I tried to look you up, but I guess you must use a pseudonym or whatever you call it.”
“I do. I’m not much for sharing my personal life with every cat and canary, but Cecil Longtree, my alter ego, has a large online presence with several thousand followers.”
“Then I suppose the pandemic didn’t really change your life much. I know from Uncle Eli that your mother died before it started, and I am sorry for that. I didn’t know either of you existed. Dad never said a word, although when Uncle Eli explained it … Damn, I’m running off at the mouth like a bloody teenager. I … I’m rather a private person, so meeting strangers, isn’t easy for me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t know about you either. If you have questions, ask away.”
“Will your wife be joining you? It’s not a problem since we have lots of room.”
“My wife’s dead. She was one of the pandemic’s casualties, a nurse in a Toronto long care facility.”
She glanced at him quickly before focusing on the traffic once more.
“I’m so sorry. So many people died.”
“Yes, and a lot more would’ve, had it not been for the vaccine.”
“Too true. So what were you doing on the 138 the night of the accident?”
“I was coming to see the house, to see you. Not my smartest move as it turned out.”
Surprised filled her eyes. “Did Eli know you were coming?”
“No one knew. It’ll sound cheesy, but I anticipated this great family reunion—you know like twins separated at birth. I wanted to surprise the brother I never knew I had.” He laughed. “Turns out the moose and I were the ones surprised.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
A fake husband, a color-blind painter, a pair of frustrated nudists, crazy neighbors, a cowboy doctor, a tipsy pig and more.
Laugh at their antics as they bring love and joy into UNIQUE AND UNPREDICTABLE adventuress.
Enjoy fun-filled stories with diverse settings. From an English garden to the shores of Sicily, a billionaire’s lair to the Tucson desert with a stopover for a glass of dandelion wine at Algonquin Park, Canada.
Grab your Kindle and get ready for a laugh-filled ride into the world of make-believe in this Romantic Comedy Box Set created by nine New York Times, USA Today, and Award-winning authors of THE AUTHORS’ BILLBOARD.
Susan Jean Ricci – The Charming Chameleon: Can karma inspire a mismatched couple to forgo masquerading and reveal their true selves for love?
Dani Haviland – The Wizard of Odds: Two co-workers take on an impossible challenge and wind up with a menagerie of unusual animals looking for a second chance in the desert. Will the mismatched couples get one, too?
Mona Risk – Husband for a Week: Sicilian vendetta, fake husband, and an irascible matchmaking grandmother complicate their lives. Can love conquer all?
Leanne Banks – Cowboy MD: Could he cure what ails her?
Susanne Matthews – The Tipsy Pig: A socialite, a recluse, and a tipsy pig—the perfect recipe for romance?
Katy Walters – Love Your Neighbor: Moving into a new neighborhood has more challenges – and nuts – than they thought possible.
Angela Stevens – Whitewash: The Tricks of the Trade: What could go wrong when a Pinterest addict lets a color-blind painter and decorator fix up her dream home?
Patrice Wilton – Night Music: A little magic can make anything happen in South Beach.
Stephanie Queen – Small Town Hot Shot Bride: Will Tammy foolishly get swept up by charming out-of-towner Roark and his runaway train attraction? Or will she derail him for good?
Here’s a sneak peek at The Tipsy Pig.
Chapter 1
Childless, divorced, unemployed, and almost forty. A fate worse than death, and yet there wasn’t one damn thing I could do about it. I couldn’t decide which of the dreaded Four Horsemen of my Apocalypse was the worst, although at this moment, the unemployed option stung the most. Not that I really needed to work. I’d lost a fortune, but I wasn’t penniless. It was just that I’d worked at one job or another my entire adult life, dedicating myself to the family business, and now I would have nothing to do. It sucked.
Before I’d reluctantly assumed the position of CEO for Larson Pork Enterprises, I’d worked my way up from graphic design to head of the marketing department, constantly searching for ways to keep up with the competition in this dog eat dog—or rather pig eat pig—world, forced to work long hours to try and hang on to our market share, especially once COVID 19 hit, creating havoc in the meat processing plants which led to shortages. Finding ways to stay competitive without raising prices or cutting employees had been a delicate balancing act, but then the virus had hit too close to home, and everything had changed.
Sadly, after only nine months in the big chair, I was forced to sell the pork processing company that had been in my family since 1890 when Toronto had been known as Hogtown. No more bringing home the bacon. Not exactly a banner line for the resumé or a plus at a job interview. I could picture the scene now.
So, Ms. Martin, I see you’re applying for the position of CEO. I can see you have experience in the field, but tell me, why did you leave your last job?
I sold the company to an international competitor after I fired myself on the grounds that I’m an idiot who didn’t have enough commonsense to realize my ex-husband was robbing me and my company blind.
I see, and would you consider that a strength or a weakness?
I groaned. It would probably be even worse than that.
I sat behind my great-great-grandfather’s ebony desk one last time, staring down at the Moroccan leather blotter. I ran my fingers over the S M L I’d carved into the material a lifetime ago, and sighed. I wasn’t ready for this, not now, not ever. I reached for the cooling cup of coffee I’d picked up from the Java Shack on my way to the office.
According to my best friend Miranda who’d dropped by before going to court this morning, I was giving an Oscar-winning performance as a corpse, even though I’d narrowly escaped being one. It was all a matter of perspective. As she put it, with a little effort I could probably land a walk-on in the filming of the next zombie apocalypse movie. She was exaggerating, but sadly there was too much truth there to ignore.
I’d always been slender, but following weeks in the hospital, the black pantsuit and shell I wore under it hung from my emaciated frame, the only color other than the waxy pallor of my skin coming from my grandmother’s pearls, a fitting costume for a corporate funeral. Saying goodbye to the company and the only jobs I’d ever known was so much harder than I’d expected.
“What the hell are you going to do now, Sahara?”
My voice echoed in the office devoid of family paintings, books, and the soft-surfaced furnishings I’d opted to keep, bouncing off the Lavish Lavinia Larson pig statuette.
A single tear trickled down under the frame of my dark, tortoise-shell glasses. I swiped at it. I would not cry—not now, not ever again. As Dad had always said, tears were for sissies, and while I might be a lot of things—naïve, anxious, and disheartened, despite being a girl, I wasn’t a wimp. I was a survivor.
When I’d turned twenty-one and had graduated from university with a degree in Fine Arts, Dad had given me a job in the marketing department. It had been a far cry from my imagined future restoring masterpieces and creating some of my own, but since I’d spent most of my life trying to make up for the fact that I’d been born without a dick, if that was what Dad wanted, then that was what he would get.
I reached for the statuette on the desk, my biggest success. Lavish Lavinia Larson, the company mascot, was a cartoon pig, loosely based on Miss Piggy, the Muppet character I’d loved. In her silver sequined gown and tiara, holding a lorgnette up to her eyes, she ruled over the porcine realm selecting only the best of her subjects for Larson Bacon. While my father had had his doubts, claiming people would be appalled by the idea which in some ways smacked of cannibalism, I’d pointed out that it was really no different from Charlie the tuna, Chiquita banana, the life-sized M & M candies, or Mr. Peanut—all products selling themselves.
Eventually, he’d backed down, and after a consumer study that showed the pig immensely popular with children and female shoppers, Lavish Lavinia became the star of all Larson bacon ads and commercials. Within a year, the Lavish Lavinia slogan, a cut above the rest, and her cute piggy face had graced Larson bacon products.
As another means of drawing in more consumers, I’d added unusual bacon recipes under our package labels, along with mini pig stickers that could be saved and redeemed for a Lavish Lavinia plush toy. Shoppers loved the idea, and the sale of Lavish Lavinia products increased until our bacon was our most popular commodity. Larson’s might be a far cry from the industry giants, but we had a firm grip on our markets.
Within five years, in addition to selling trademark items like lunch bags and t-shirts, we’d put out two Lavish Lavinia Cookbooks, with recipes for everything from Bacon Stuffed Artichokes, Bacon Brownies, and Bacon and Cheese Baked Ziti in Zucchini Boats to cocktails. After all, love made the world go round, and everybody loved bacon.
Shortly before my father’s untimely death, we’d expanded our product line, adding bacon-flavored simple syrup, candied bacon, bacon-flavored potato chips, and pre-cooked woven bacon taco shells to our list of products. We’d partnered with a micro-brewery and had given our blessing to bacon flavored beer, with Lavish Lavinia on the label, and most recently, after we’d joined forces with McPhee’s Distillery, she’d been featured on their newest product, premixed Tipsy Pig cocktails, a favorite of mine, the perfect drink anywhere, anytime. What I wouldn’t give for one of those now—I would even settle for just the three ounces of bourbon in it.
Stiffening my spine, I placed the statuette back on the desk, stood, and paced the floor, the heels of my Jimmy Choo’s rat-tat-tatting on the polished oak, sounding like some demented woodpecker, as I waited for Saul Levett, the company lawyer.
While selling Larson Enterprises had been the only thing to do, doing so had left a hole in my heart—as if the damn thing didn’t already resemble Swiss cheese.
I glanced at my watch. Where was Saul? He’d been gone almost two hours. The meeting shouldn’t have taken this long.
Nature abhorred a vacuum, and the longer I waited to hear my fate, the more worries and memories combined to fill the void.
How I wished for a do-over, a mulligan, a chance to go back in time to change something, make a different decision, run away from what would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life—even if I hadn’t been the one to orchestrate it—but karma never gave anyone a second chance. I’d lost it all. Whatever I had left was all I would ever have, and while the Coronavirus had been the last straw, stealing my father from me, it had been my ex-husband who’d taken everything else.
I wrung my dry, chapped hands, desperately searching for answers. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t used to disappointment, but this time, there didn’t seem to be any light at the end of the tunnel.
Glancing at the mirrored wall behind the empty display shelves, I examined my reflection. I’d never deluded myself with the idea that I was a great beauty. I resembled my father, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. While he might’ve been considered handsome in a Nordic sort of way, I was as plain as they came, with a wan complexion that could burn in the shade, a nose that might be slightly too big for my face, thin, colorless lips that had long ago forgotten how to smile, and myopic, watery blue eyes that necessitated the constant wearing of glasses. I’d tried contact lenses, but putting them in and taking them out was far more trouble than they were worth. I’d considered laser surgery, but the severity of the myopia meant I would still have to wear glasses, so why bother?
Blonde hair, pulled back into a chignon, exposed the inch of dark roots that would probably grow even longer before I could do anything about them. With this area of the province still in partial lockdown, it was almost impossible to get an appointment with a hairdresser, and the last time I’d tried to do my own, my hair had come out a most unattractive shade of mauve. Thankfully, we’d been in total lockdown, and I’d been working from home. Eventually it had washed out.
The pale face staring back at me had dark circles under overbright eyes, visible behind thick frames, and bloodless lips. I suppose I could’ve made an effort, put on some of the makeup I’d started to wear when I’d been introduced to Randy, a little blusher for color, lipstick, maybe even eyeshadow to draw the observer’s eyes away from what was really there, but to what end? There was no one left to impress.
I reached for the Financial Observer lying on my desk and glared at the headline on the front page of the rag that passed itself off as a newspaper. Larson CEO Sells to Sapphire, Cuts Randy Loose. Not quite the truth, but what had I expected? Sensationalized headlines sold more papers than facts ever did. I dropped the broadsheet into the recycling bin and resumed my pacing.
The ancient intercom on the desk, a holdover from my Dad’s years as CEO, buzzed, and I reached for it.
“Yes, Nancy.”
“Saul Levett is here, Mrs. Smithers.”
I cringed at the name. How many times had I asked her not to call me that?
“Not Smithers, Nancy. It’s Larson, remember? Send him in.”
If she couldn’t remember something as simple as my name, which was still the same damn one on her biweekly paychecks, maybe it was a good thing she was retiring—or rather being retired. While Sapphire Foods, the company absorbing mine, had agreed to keep some employees, she wasn’t among them.
I reached for the Van Gogh Sunflowers’ mask on the desk and put it on.
You can get your copy of Cute But Crazy 3, Unique and Unpredictable for any Amazon retailer. It’s also free to read in Kindle Unlimited.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week our prompts are images, and we are limited to three hundred words. I’m continuing with Trouble with Eden my Contemporary Romance. Here’s the image I’ve chosen.
Enjoy!
It was the woman leaning against the black SUV, her head back, chin pointed at the sun, her eyes closed as if in prayer. She was magnificent. What he wouldn’t give to be able to grab his sketch pad and draw her now. He would replace the vehicle with the trunk of an old tree, and instead of a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, she would be garbed in the green and brown commonly worn by his wood nymphs.
“I’ll be right back,” Nancy said, leaning his crutches against the wall beside the chair.
“Hey, Pete,” Nancy said to the guard. “I take it your Mr. Rivers’s ride?” She smiled at the man who’d been signing the form.
Jackson pulled his eyes away from the woman to focus on his new relative. The man, about his height, was in his mid-forties, with graying hair and a paunch. Somehow, he’d assumed that his sibling would be younger not older than he was. Like him, he wore glasses, but the lenses were tinted, so he couldn’t see the color of his eyes.
The man frowned. “I’m sorry. You must be confusing me with someone else. I’m here for my mother.”
Frowning, Jackson looked around. So where was his ride?
Nancy turned to Pete. “I thought you said he was here.”
“Not he, she. She’s out there, leaning against the van.” He flipped the clipboard around and read the name. “E J Walford. Easton Corners. Here to pick up Jackson Rivers.”
Jackson’s head jerked up, his jaw dropped, and he gasped at the sudden, sharp pain the motion had caused. That was E J Walford? It couldn’t be. E J was a man, his brother, not this gorgeous nymph he’d created in his imagination months ago.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
What’s better than a day at the beach? That would be a day at the beach with a bundle of romance novels! In the Romance Beach Bundle 2, USA Today Bestselling Author Donna Fasano brings you three romantic books that are sure to warm your heart and put a smile on your face.
The titles included in this boxed set of romance books are:
Return of the Runaway Bride
Once upon a time… there lived a lovely young woman named Savanna who was engaged to Daniel, a handsome law student. Theirs was to be a fairy-tale wedding. But Savanna’s second thoughts were too big to be ignored, so the would-be bride ran away.
As the years passed… Daniel’s heart turned to ice. It was this unfeeling man that Savanna faced upon her return. The love of her youth is now a stranger. Can Savanna ever make Daniel understand why she abandoned him? And will she convince the man of her dreams he will always be her Prince Charming?
Take Me, I’m Yours
Sexy single dad Derek Mitchell has learned the hard way to never trust a beautiful woman. So although he would always be indebted to Lainey Adams for thwarting a kidnapping attempt on his beloved daughter, he isn’t about to show his gratitude by offering his heart on a silver platter!
But what’s the brooding bachelor to do when his matchmaking millionaire father rewards Lainey’s heroism—by giving her a share of the family fortune? Despite Derek’s love phobia, something about the beguiling Lainey touches his soul, filling him with hope…and desire. Yet he senses that she is keeping secrets—the kind that could shatter his world.
The Single Daddy Club: Derrick
The Single Dad: Ex-military man Derrick Richmond. Solitary and satisfied…until little Timmy was dropped into his lap and Derrick had to learn to be somebody’s daddy.
The Single Woman: Schoolteacher Anna Maxwell. Fate might have denied her a family of her own, but Anna still had plenty of love to give, if only someone would notice.
The Solution: Anna would teach Derrick all he needed to know about kids. Father and son would give Anna some precious memories. Then the schoolteacher and the single dad would go their separate ways. Unless one little boy figured out a way to make Miss Maxwell become his mom!
Have you ever heard someone say ACHOO! There is a little-known condition called photic sneeze reflex, or autosomal compelling helio-ophthalmic outburst (ACHOO) syndrome. That’s a mouthful for you. It occurs in response to certain stimuli: for example, when you are first exposed to bright light after your eyes have adjusted to the dark. For me, it’s a situation that tends to occur at sunset. That’s right, when the sun goes down, I sneeze.
The funny thing is, I never paid much attention to it, although the several loud sneezes in a row can be disturbing to others. Some researchers believe the ACHOO syndrome affects between 18 and 35 per cent of people, and while the genetic aspect of the disorder hasn’t been studied in detail, they do know that it is inherited from one of your parents.
My father was the sneezer, and his loud sneezes always occurred about the same time of day as mine. ACHOO isn’t dangerous, but it can be embarrassing, especially in this age of COVID! Since I also suffer from seasonal allergies, that running nose combined with the ACHOOS can make like pretty miserable. And since the sneeze sneaks up on me, well you should see the way some people jump.
WOW! May already! It’s hard to believe how quickly time flies, but we’re finally into spring–at least I hope so. On the calendar, that season may have started in March, but it appears Mother Nature doesn’t pay any attention to calendars. Who knew? We had a snowstorm a week ago, and anything is possible. Temperatures are still in the 30s and 40s F at night or 3-4 C.
This month’s question is an interesting one, especially since I used that quote from Dickens myself not too long ago.
May 4 question – It’s the best of times; it’s the worst of times. What are your writer highs (the good times)? And what are your writer lows (the crappy times)?
I suppose like all authors, my good times are those when I’ve finished a book, and it’s ready for publishing. There’s an indescribable joy in knowing that I’ve fleshed out an idea and turned it into a story for others to enjoy. The next moment of glee comes when the book sells or has pages read, and I can see the fruits of my labor. Finally, there’s immense satisfaction when the book gets helpful reviews. Sadly, it’s hard to get people to post those reviews. Telling me how much they enjoyed a book in person or in an email or a message is great, but for some reason many of them can’t seem to figure out how to post a review on Amazon or Goodreads where it can actually help with sales. That can be frustrating.
The worst times are exactly the opposite of the good ones, like when I hit a roadblock in a story and have a hard time working my way around it to finish the story. As well, when I’m editing and those unintentional but huge plot holes present themselves and force me to go back to the beginning to fix them. Finally, it’s when books for whichever reason don’t sell and don’t get pages read. And of course, I can’t forget the trolls, people who leave bad book ratings without reviews or worse, send the book back to Amazon so that I lose money.
But don’t get me wrong. On the whole, I have more good times than bad one. I hope you do, too.
For years I used to laugh at all the exercise equipment on sale at yard sales. I often saw people using them as clothes racks, but I’d never felt to urge to buy one, new or used, until recently. The difference? I started a walking program. If COVID taught me anything it was that I needed to take better care of my health. To that end, I started watching my weight and exercising.
As far as the weight goes, in the year since I began watching what I eat, I’ve lost 25 pounds and I’m hoping to lose 25 more. I recently added exercise to the mix, and we’ll see how that goes. The problem was that as much as I wanted to walk every day, the weather wouldn’t cooperate. It may be May, but April has as many cold and miserable days as February and March. I needed a solution. My sister has a treadmill and uses it every day, so, I bit the bullet and bought one of my own. Yesterday, I used it for the first time.
Walking is walking, right? Wrong! It took me a while to figure out how to walk without feeling like an awkward duck. I started at the lowest speed for 15 minutes. Two hours later, I added to the speed for another 15 minutes. Two hours after that, i grabbed my music and walked for 20 minutes, adding to the speed once more. Each time i used it, it seemed to get easier. So, later today, I’ll be back on the treadmill.
I still plan to walk outdoors to get fresh air and vitamin D, but now, thanks to my treadmill, I’ve got a chance to get all my steps in each day.
Living the Dream 