I've written a blog like this before. And because I'm in one of those *rare* sarcastic moods [like how I threw sarcasm into talking about sarcasm?] I thought I'd write another blog about it.
Because I'm sick and tired of thinking about my weight, how I look, and what it will take to get me to "magical me".
I like to run.
Okay, that's a lie.
I don't *like* to run, I like the feeling after I'm done with a run.
Here's a glimpse into one of my typical runs:
1-2 Minutes in: "Oh Yeah, I feel great, I can do ANYTHING! Perhaps when I'm done with this fantastic workout I will solve world hunger."
3-5 Minutes: "Alright, so my lungs feel like they're on fire - who cares! I'll get through this. Maybe I'll put off the world hunger thing until Thursday.."
6-10 Minutes: "That's it. I'm dying." *life flashes before my eyes*
11-12 Minutes: "Well, I've ran a mile, I guess I might as well keep going. You can do this!" *picturing myself in a bikini when I'm skinny*
12-30 Minutes: "This was a terrible idea."
Every time, people. Not just once. It doesn't matter if I've been training for a half or if I've been out of the workout loop and I'm totally out of shape [which is right now], every run sucks equally.
But somehow, I convince myself to keep doing it.
Because I take joy in punishing myself with fervor?
I'm joshin' ya.
The main reason is for the endorphin high.
But the after-effects aren't too shabby either.
You know, the whole "slim calves, arms, chest, abs" thing?
That's pretty legit.
And yeah, I've totally been slacking.
For the last like...six months.
Every day I wake up and think....what did I do a year ago that worked so well?
I'll you what I did.
I got off my ass and forced myself to go to the gym.
[Because honestly, all cliches aside, getting yourself there really *is* the hardest part]
To put the food down.
[*smacks my own hand* NO CHEESE FOR YOU]
To look at the positive.
["No worries, sir. I actually LOVE it when people hit my car!"]
All the while I was losing weight. [Blasphemy! That can't *actually* WORK!!]
And here I am. One of the 90% [or whatever ridiculous number it is] that lost weight and ends up gaining it back.
But you know what? The past is done.
Not a whole helluva lot I can do about it except constantly think about it and feel bad about myself for being such a lazy bum.
A lot of good that's doing me.
And so it begins.
For like, the 800th time.
No more looking back.
Or thinking. [it's exhausting, really]
Just me and the treadmill.
Running, wishing my metabolism would throw me a frickin' bone and do all the work for me. [if only]
But like they say, the 801st time's the charm, right?
Yeah, I think I've heard someone say that.
Keep Calm & Spark On, peeps.