Around about the end of this past week, I reached a personal milestone. I stepped on the scales and realised I’d well and truly lost 10 whole kilos (22lb or 1.8 stone, if that helps) since I took matters into my own hands last February. I’d been a bit optimistic back then and hoped to have lost 20kg by October, but I realise now that that’s a asking a little bit much of my body (and putting myself at risk of gaining the weight back really quickly again). Still, 10kg is no small feat… imagine strapping 10 cartons of milk to your body and trying to run around! 🙂
Yet weight is a funny thing. I’m going to be totally honest, even though it’s hard for me, because this is a lifestyle blog and I feel I owe it to you… no less because you owe it to yourself to be honest about your own weight, if the situation requires it. I truly believe that’s how change happens, with a healthy dose of honesty.
I wasn’t intending on posting another article until the weekend, but something happened to me today and I wanted to talk about it because I’m pretty sure it happens to most of us at some point, or even repeatedly, in our lives.
Something gets in the way of something else you were intending to do.
A bit of context: several little things got in my way today. And as we know, the little things often add up to large things (or rather, things that seem large but only to us) and then the whole situation snowballs out of control. Yeah, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. So on with the story.
Exercising can seem like an ordeal when you’re standing at the bottom of the Fitness Mountain, looking up towards the mist-shrouded summit where the scantily-clad skinny people frolic, casually sipping goji berry juice or whatever. Not only do you rarely know where to begin, but the climb seems so long and arduous that it can feel easier (and in the immediate term, more rewarding) to turn away, sit down in front of the TV and have a piece of cake to calm your frazzled nerves.
Before we start talking about means of motivation, I want to underline something:
If you’d told me fifteen years ago that I would one day take up running as a hobby, I would probably have burst into tears and kicked you in the shin, horrified at the fact that you would even dare suggest such an abomination.
If you’d told me even two years ago, I would have given you a “that’s adorable” smile and then proceeded to tell you exactly why not in a rational, adult manner with rational, adult arguments.
Six months ago, I would have made some whingeing noise in the back of my throat and shifted from foot to foot, repeating a few of those same arguments (the ones that sounded so solid before, except they weren’t) while trying not to look you in the eye.
And then two and a half months ago, I did it.