A week ago on Tuesday I had a mole removed from my back. There were inconsistencies in the color that made my dermatologist think it suspect. As she explained it to me, there is this very wide spectrum between "potential problem moles" and "basel-cell carcinoma (a.k.a. cancerous) moles". Mine exhibited tell-tale signs, but they wouldn't know what the hell it was until they took it off and did a biopsy. (So none of you worry, it turned out to be right in the middle of that spectrum: not cancerous, but removing it was the right move.)
In any case, the doctor said I wouldn't be able to exercise for 10 days after getting the mole removed. No yoga, no jogging, nothing. "Oh, o-kay," I told her, feigning reluctance. "I guess I'll find a way to muddle through!" I was lying, though. I have definitely gone for 10 days without exercising before. In fact, I usually go for long, 10-day plus stretches without exercising. I am working two jobs and writing a book here, people--something's gotta give. Also, I figure that doing laps around Toro several times a weeks is plenty good exercise.
Yet for some reason, since the minute I learned I would not be permitted to exercise for 10 whole days, it's all I want to do. I fantasize about getting up with the sun and doing yoga. I have developed elaborate schemes about sneaking cardiovascular physical activity into my day. The other day, I walked home from Foodie's with an entire week's worth of heavy, canned-good laden groceries, huffing and puffing all the way in high heeled boots. I knew all along that I should just stop and hail a cab--but for some reason I keep walking, dressy work outfit notwithstanding.
What is wrong with me? Why is it that the minute I set my mind to something-- or in this case, am strictly forbidden from doing something that might injure me-- some naughty, rebellious part of me wants desperately to do it?
Perhaps it's not that I lack self-discipline. Perhaps I'm just destined to always want to do exactly what I am not supposed to.