you know, i wish i could bottle pain.
Not any pain. The pain you have, in almost every part of your body, when you start getting back into shape. If i was able to experience the the trauma, with something as visceral as the pain after a first run in 6 months, or the trauma my man boobs feel after working on my chest at the gym, i don't think i would have let things slip this far.
But i can't. So here we are.
The worst of winter is about over, i've returned to New York and it is time to get back into shape.
So what is my motivation?
Let's presume that i am in a fairly advanced state of self loathing.
I have picked up 12 pounds in the last 6 months. My creative process feels stunted. After a day at work, i struggle to let go of small issues. My man boobies\moobies are just about ready for their first training bra. I can't see that little line, where your belly ends and your nether region begins.
Okay, that's something to get me started. At least enough to pull on my shoes and get out a free clima cool shirt that has a weird yellow sweat stain under the arm.
But here's the rub -
at 30, having lost the power of a fast metabolism, and never having been particularly sport orientated, getting to a point where i can run effectivly i.e regularly, achieve some kind of runners high - is at least 2 months of regular excursions to the park, away.
so i need some kind of ongoing motivation. something to get me out on the course, but more importantly something to make sure i finish my miles and push myself harder every time. Forget running buddies. This is New York. And keeping track of my improvement is not enough. running is a means to an end - not a massive lifestyle choice.
Motivation to me is a challenge. What i want is something to beat. Yes, that person infront of me offers some competition, but this is really about me.
Right, something to beat.
What about that idiot boss who is over tanned and too into screwing his assistants while lording power over you, and fucking you over at every turn. Here's your chance to prove that you are better than him. Run further.
Or that douche bag, you're sharing an office with who thinks he is better than you because he is older and has worked at big scary agencies all his life. Go out and run harder than the moron ever worked in his cushy job. Don't condescend me mother fucker.
How about that lazy, sneaky insincere account person, who is getting in the way of great work, forcing you to spend weekends and nights working unnecessarily. wanker. One more lap. I am better.
and that very simply what this blog is going to be about.
my fight towards fitness, using the things that piss me off as fuel while i'm running
