I am afraid of heights. This is fairly well established to anyone who knows me well. Walking on sidewalks looking down at the curb can make me kind of dizzy. I have to close my eyes when I go up on tiptoe. Don't get me started on getting in and out of Hummers. (Because I am this eco-obnoxious, may I just state that I have never, in my life, gotten in or out of a Hummer?) Okay.
What is the most logical form of exercise for such a one, may I ask? Obviously, rockclimbing. Or wall-climbing. But you know, anything that gets you sixty or so feet off the ground, dangling from a dubious purple string and a carabiner between your legs. But for some strange reason, I have always wanted to do it. And on Tuesday (and again today!) I did. 
Injuries sustained. (Yes, they hardly exist, but the one on my elbow hurts like a BITCH!!)I can't begin to describe how proud I am of myself for this. When it comes to physical fitness, I usually lack a little in the way of... motivation? Confidence? Reflexes? Going on a treadmill was enough to make me sweat (I mean, not in the... you understand). Why? Because I might look like I didn't know what I was doing. And let me tell you, being the only one on a climbing wall in the middle of a gym screaming your fool head off is not the way to deflect attention. But I don't care. Because it was really fun, felt like I was doing something (unlike the treadmill) and allowed me to overcome a fear. Or at least, ignore it for a little while. I think I may have to sleep on the floor tonight, though-- the bed seems a little altitudinous for me today.
PS-- I must also note that it was Friday the 13th! That must account for the elbow bruise.