I plan my workouts like I plan my dr's appointments or anything else I need to plan. I am committed to this life style. The only person I hurt if I don't is me............And I usually do plan those..........Haven't missed many.............Have been told by others that I am committed to my workouts.........so true.
I can't do my workout later in the day because make mental excuses. As long as I get up at 5:15 and put in my time, I get in the weights or run or whatever. If I don't, I won't. I know it's crazy because I WANT to but don't. So silly!
Fitness Minutes: (1,479)
4 8/23/13 4:12 A
How many times are we supposed to go to the gym, and we find a reason not to?
I've done it. I know I have.
Sometimes I leave the house for work and 'forget' my gym gear.
Sometimes I don't feel well, or my back or knee hurts.
I tell myself that it's ok, that I can make it up another day.
I excuse myself from having to put in the sweat equity that it will take to make the dream of a thinner me a reality.
Ultimately, no-one else cares if I lose weight. It's no skin off their nose if I want to go through life fat and happy. Sure, some loved ones may bring it up every now and then in passing conversation, but only out of a fear that I might keel over and die on them because I am so morbidly obese that it's no longer funny.
Who, pray tell, am I excusing myself to?
As an adult, it's not like I have hall monitors or teachers taking attendance when it's time for phys ed anymore.
There is literally no-one with the power to punish me for not turning up to my midnight workout after 8 hours at my day job.
So why do I feel guilty when I miss?
Because the one I am excusing myself to is ME.
Not the fat ass me that wants to sit on the couch and do nothing - no, he's the one that got us into this mess. No, the one I'm excusing myself to - really, apologizing to - is the one version of myself, hidden deep down inside, who BELIEVES.
Somewhere inside me there is a person - probably a lot better looking, if I'd ever let him out in daylight - who BELIEVES that I can do better. That I SHOULD do better. That I, too, could be reasonably fit and look good naked, instead of having a muffin top that could serve as a promotional billboard for Hostess.
This person has a will of iron, legs and arms like tree trunks, buns of steel, and a philosophy inspired by the story of CT Fletcher. If he can be a professional trainer with a steel valve in his heart, what the heck is wrong with me?
I'm not there yet. I may never be that person. But I'm not going to quit. I have no excuse that the fit person deep inside me is willing to accept.
An dI'm kind of scared of that dude, 'cos he can whup my butt.
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