Jesus Jail

I realized today that, while here in Mexico, I have a lot in common with prisoners. Yep, I said it. Prisoners. Here are a few reasons:
1. I live in a compound, surrounded by a wall.
2. I am not (in any circumstance) allowed to leave this compound without proper supervision.
3. I live in a tiny room with a sink in the corner.
4. I am reduced to doing push-ups and running in place in this tiny room with a sink in the corner.
5. This tiny room I live in is so tiny I have to angle my body just right to fit on the ground so I can do aforementioned push-ups.

If you haven't guessed, yes, I tried to work out today. And it was terrible. They say you never know what you got till it's gone. Running is what I didn't know I had. Now I know it, and I don't have it anymore. And I feel like if I go one more week without getting to run I may explode. I'm no fitness guru (you can tell that by looking at me), and when I run it isn't for a fast pace or huge mileage. It's to feel free. And alone. And capable of making myself move. Slowly and for not too long, but still moving. Ah, I miss it so bad.

So this is my whiny post. Poor, pitiful me; stuck in Mexico without a gym. There are missionaries giving up food today for Jesus, and I'm freaking out because I think I'll get fat. Talk about misplaced priorities! And honestly, this can be a learning experience for me. I mean, just today I discovered burpees. They're awful, but I'm adjusting to doing what I can with what I'm given. I'm praying that over the next few weeks Jesus gives me a running partner, but until then, jumping jacks it is. And I'll be fine here in Jesus Jail. A little chunkier, sure, but fine. Gotta run now; there's still time for 10 more burpees before church.