Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Well, I'm sitting here instead of getting into the shop and getting to work reflecting on a few things. Oh, don't worry. I'm the boss, so I can go in whenever I want. Self-employment has its advantages. Anyway, I was just thinking...
I've been watching all these inspiring vlogs and reading the recommended blogs and so forth, and I've noticed something. All these success stories that I've read about involve training for a sport, sometimes on epic scale (like triathlons and marathons and those other thons that I've probably forgotten). They talk about feeling a sense of personal accomplishment and victory.
That's awesome. Great. Good for them. Glad they've found something that works.
I, on the other hand, can't keep that sense of personal accomplishment for long. I mean, the rush is great at first, but then you're wiped out and left with a "well, now what?" kind of feeling. Also, I've never been the athletic type. Ever. I've never seen the point. So training for an event actually fills me with a deep, underlying sense of dread and also a sense of futility. As in a "to what end?" kind of thing. Does this mean that I'm a flawed human being, destined to be obese for all eternity? The horror... the horror...
Actually, no. No it doesn't.
Hear me out on this sacrilege. When I started biking two years ago, I went hard core. I loved it. I was biking all the time. And yet I gained twenty pounds. How, you may ask? No idea. I'm just gifted that way. Naturally I became frustrated. Here I was doing all this work, eating within my calorie limits a good bit of the time, burning away the miles and I GAIN twenty pounds in a year. Frustrating? You betcha. Fast forward to this April when I decided to do SparkCoach.
I did minimal exercise, at least compared to what I had been doing. I tracked my food and made a minimal effort to get some fruits and veggies in there at some point. I even made a modest attempt at strength training. I wasn't killing myself, or stressing out, or crying about how unfair life was or how much I hated myself for being unable to drop any ballast. I just took it as it came, plugging along, kind of half-assing it, really. I mean, compared to what other, more inspiring people on this site are doing.
So hey guess what. I dropped 12 pounds. I mean, it fluctuates, but I've dropped 12 pounds since May 4. By just doing little stuff and not worrying about it. Just by being a mindful adult, and not trying to train for the Olympics and obsess over everything. It appears that the more I obsess about something, the harder it is for me to get it done, and the less I actually care, the easier it is. Seems counterintuitive, but there you have it. It's how I apparently roll.
So, in sum, I'm never going to train for a marathon. I'm never going to do a triathlon, because I just don't see the point. What I will do is keep on keeping on, and I'll get there eventually without all the parades and finishers medals and hooplah, and you know what? I'm okay with that.