For weeks (or, more accurately, months or years) I’ve been telling myself that tomorrow morning I’m going to get up early, put on some appropriate attire (i.e. tight sports bra, shoes with laces that seem dauntingly complicated at the break of dawn), and head out the door for some exercise before I let the rest of the day take over. I might even take a dog with me–the smart one who wants to actually walk, not just pee on stuff every few feet like the other two. Instead, my brain feels all fogged in inside the Alcatraz of my skull, coffee calls, and here I am again, not carrying out my plan. I know all it will take will be one morning to get me going. The question is, when will that morning be?