I was so proud of myself. Dinner on the table, ready to work out as soon as the kids went down, I was going to install some of that self-love by making the trek to the embarrassingly close club house to use the treadmill.
Then the kids were crazy at dinner.
So I delayed my plan to help him get the girls down to bed.
And braving the frigid (for Arkansas and for being in workout clothes, remember) weather, I walked around the back of my building and across the parking lot (I told you it was close, and embarrassing how little we've been there for how long we've lived here!)
The code didn't work.
I tried and tried and talked myself through it in the cold and dark, crying that it was so hard to do this for myself. Why couldn't it be easy when I was actually making a move toward doing this. Exercising!
I came home, flopped on the bed in a puddle of tears.
So W went out and found our neighbor who shed some light on the subject that the code had been changed.
He explained it was 2-1-4 at the same time, then three, then turn to the right. He dragged me off the bed and encouraged me to try again.
It didn't work. I called him, crying, frustrated, ready to give up, and had him repeat the directions again.
2 and 4, not 2-1-4. I tried to not get even more frustrated, but it still didn't work until the fifth try.
I got my nerves together in the lobby and went in and worked out for a surprisingly short half hour.
And now that I know how to get in, my hopes are that I will repeat the experience...but only the last try!