Week 23 of 46. Halfway to the marathon. I ran 0 miles and gained 0.2 pounds. My totals are 142.47 miles in 42.421 hours and 11.2 pounds lost.
I don’t know what the deal is. I know I need to get off my ass. I know I need to do something. And everyday I chide myself for not getting on the treadmill while I stare blankly at YouTube or TweetDeck. This is way beyond lack of motivation. This is pure laziness.
I want to get in shape. I want to be healthy. I want to lose this ring of fat that hugs my middle like a kid’s inflatable pool toy. I want to have more energy and fewer ‘bad’ days. Yet I always manage to come up with an excuse that, no matter how flimsy it is, keeps me out of my running shoes.
And the truth of it is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid I won’t get on the treadmill ever again. That I’ll end up fat and middle-aged. That I’ll be miserable until heart disease kills me. That my daughter will follow my path – watching me get old, fat, and miserable like I’ve watched my mother, before getting old, fat, and miserable herself. The thought terrifies me.
With everything going on in my life right now, I think I’m more than a little overwhelmed. My lack of exercise is just another thing to add to the ‘failure’ list. But I know if I keep thinking that way, I’ll stay stuck in the rut I’m in.
Starting today, I will do the bare minimum and call it a victory. If that minimum is only walking for 10 minutes, so be it. Everyday I’ll decide what my bare minimum is and go from there. I need little victories in my life right now, just as much as I need to get physically healthy.