guilt

I bought a road bike. I've wanted a road bike since I was at least 22, maybe longer.  So I saved up my pennies, looked on Craigslist, and found one that fits me like a charm. This morning I took it out for it's first spin. I loved it. It was exhilarating and it kicked my butt. While in the middle of one of the many unavoidable, monsterously steep, long hills. I wondered to myself why I didn't act on this while I still lived in Ohio: Those soft rolling hills, covered in lush green trees. The perfect setting for a ride to a quaint town where I could purchase Velvet's Ice Cream and watch the ducks swim in the lake or stream. 

When I got home, passed the window, and saw Canberra starring out with those drooping puppy dog eyes I knew. Every time I put on workout clothes or running shoes and she is not invited, I am sent on the biggest guilt trip of my life. Exercise takes motivation, but when you're sent on a guilt trip the moment you tie up your laces or walk in sweaty, it makes getting out the door that much more difficult. After walking in and greeting my depressed dog, I spoke to Ben where he explained that the moment I left the house, Canberra would not stop crying. While he told me this, she just laid there staring up at me, those eyes shooting guilt through my heart. The rest of the morning consisted of Canberra following me around the house, watching my every move wondering when it was her turn to go outside. Can I do this? Can I really train on my road bike, knowing my depressed dog is crying at home? Goodness, sweet dog, it's not like I don't take her out for easily an hour walk/run every day (thank goodness we didn't get the Weimaraner we had originally dreamed of. I think I would officially be overwhelmed, trying to keep up!). This morning we will be taking our walk early, simply to relieve me of the depressed tone Canberra setting in our home.