¡Ay, caramba!

I failed. And now I have to pay - with movement.

Back in November, I made a writing deal with a friend. She would be the coach, and I would be the player. I needed someone tough, someone I respect too much to let down. Yes, the obvious question is why can’t I just push myself. Well, my friend, if I had that key, I’d be places right now. Anyway, I failed to complete a task the first week of January, so the punishment we had agreed on…well…

“Will you do this for me?”

“Yes! But, let’s think. We need to figure out what motivates you. Name something that you just hate to do. Quick.”


“Perfect. Every time you don’t turn in an assignment, we’ll exercise.”

I’m not sure that was an agreement, but I mentioned respect. So, I must exercise. The last time I exercised in public was at the YMCA, late at night after they turned out most of the lights because nobody was there, in the corner, walking quietly on a treadmill.

Tonight is something called Zumba. From what I’ve seen on YouTube, it involves dancing and rhythm and groups and boys. Oh, my. Another hive. (The last time I danced in public, it was sometime in the 1980s and involved more than just a few cocktails.)

I’ve emailed four excuses already, and she’s not buying a one of ‘em. I haven’t missed an assignment this week, though, and I may never again. That’s coaching!! And just what I need.