Too much cake

 There has been a distinct prodding of my conscience every so often this year, a prodding to get off my bum and do some exercise.  I've had every excuse in the book to hand.

Too tired.  So much on.  My shoes are embarrassingly holey.  No convenient time.  Can't get up early in the morning.  Always have Little Bun with me.  Can't push the buggy up those steep hills.  No money.

But the prodding got a little sharper the other day when, with the lovely weather we've been having I started thinking that perhaps it would be quite nice to have a morning walk.  But when could I do it? My mind  protested. 6 to 6.30am would be do-able came the reply.

 I'll do it!  I thought.  I'll lay out the trackies and the holey shoes (who's going to see them at that time in the morning anyway?) today to remind me.  They'll be staring me in the face and I'll remember.  If I don't wake up in time, wake me up Lord, I facetiously prayed.

I forgot to set the alarm of course but woke up at 6.03am.  Lying in a warm bed, tired from the night, the day, the week, the month, the year before, trying to decide to get up and do exercise is a challenge.

It was  a stunning morning.  Clear skies, a light morning mist, views over the national park, quiet grey gums, shafts of sunlight, lilac blossoms in what can only be described as profusion.  I'm aiming to do it again.

Dear Lord, I'm going to need all the help I can get.  It's 3am, I can't sleep and I'm blogging. Early wake up call is at 5.45am.