First, with a three-year-old, if you tell him what the plan is for a given day...you can't change it. I mean, if there's some national catastrophe that forces you to stay inside (if what you'd said included going out), then fine. But just changing your mind because something becomes inconvenient...I don't recommend it.
So with today's forecast of low- to mid-50s, I told my son we'd go running to the Gardens--it's a city-run children's garden that he's loved ever since last spring, and it's about 2 miles away, along the bike path (opposite direction from where we'd run last week when I talked about art in public places). No problem, even when I haven't been running as much in the winter as last fall.
Except I step outside to get the jogging stroller ready, and low-50s it's not. Cloudy it is, and cold. I can get him well bundled up, so that's not a problem, but it does make it less appealing to me. Still, it's what I said we'd do, so wearing a fleece over the rest of my running outfit and gloves, I ran. Berating myself at first, but my annoyance soon faded. There's not a lot at the Gardens this time of year, even in the greenhouse, but it was fun. And I'm at the point where I get back from a run and it just feels good. A twinge of muscle pain that only reminds me that I've been running but really doesn't rate as pain at all.
Of course, I step outside for a second later this afternoon...and it's sunny and probably close to 50.
I let you extrapolate your own writing lesson from this--following through on what you promise your readers? the value of exercising your writing muscles? the lack of impressive works of fiction during your own writing winter? Take what you will.