Committed. Or, just commit me. It's one or the other.

The other night, we attended first-grade orientation in Nathaniel's classroom. It was a parents-only event, scheduled to run from 6 to 7 p.m.

I secured our regular babysitter, Anna, and planned to go to the meeting in my exercise clothes (Hello, Klassy!) so that I could walk right after the meeting was over, since we'd have an hour of daylight left.

I was totally emotionally invested in Orientation until about 6:45, when I realized that we were only on Page 2 of the four-page agenda. HOLY COW. We might be there for another hour.

I glanced out the window and saw that the daylight was fading. How would I get my walk in? Would it be too dark to walk afterward? How would this Unanticipated Activity Deficit affect my weight loss this week? I WAS STRESSING OUT. And stress makes me hungry. HELLO, IRONY. Nice to see you.

My emotional investment in Orientation began to wane by the minute. I felt like a traitor to Miss H. for being more concerned about my exercise than I was about listening with an open heart and writing down all the rules about P.E. and the methods used to score reading comprehension. And I felt like a traitor to myself for relishing the thought that I might be able to skip exercise for a legitimate reason one night this week. OH, THE INTERNAL CONFLICT.

When we were released, I ran outside for a daylight check. PITCH BLACK. It was almost 8:00. What to do, what to do.

When one's neighborhood doesn't have many streetlights and one's normal walking path is surrounded by tall bushes, one is forced to make compromises when exercising after dark.

I pulled into the parking lot of a large church in the neighborhood. I took a deep breath and told myself, "You're going to walk laps around this parking lot for 45 minutes, and it's going to be worth it."

Eleven laps later, at four minutes each, I was sweaty but HIGHLY self-righteous. VERY self-congratulatory. EXTREMELY full of pride. All very anti-Biblical, I know. I felt like one of those people who are, like, clinically addicted to exercise and had just gotten "a fix."

I'd overcome the adversity heaped on me by the first-rate, first-grade teacher employed by our Highly Regarded Public School System (WHOM WE LOVE, by the way. Couldn't ask for a more dedicated, loving teacher.) I'd triumphed over my circumstances.

I also probably missed some pertinent points about the proper way to tie your laces for P.E., but, you know ... opportunity costs, people.