That’s right, Modern Philosophers, after boring you to tears with a solid five months of running and fitness posts last year, the posts simply stopped.
Just like they always do every winter.
It’s inevitable. I hate running, Maine winters are harsh, and I’d much rather overindulge on comfort foods inside a warm and cozy House on the Hill, than get up before the crack of dawn, bury myself under layers, and head out to run on the icy, snow covered roads.
I’m a Modern Philosopher, after all. Logic dictates that it is wise to not go looking for a fight with Maine in mid-January.
Besides, it’s human nature to hibernate during the winter, pack on a little weight to stay warm, and then constantly promise yourself that you’re going to go running the second the sun makes its triumphant return.
I’ve been down on myself lately, and part of that has been because of my poor self-image. I don’t need to get on the scale to know I’ve put back on all the weight I lost with my intense running program. While I keep reassuring myself that this happens every winter, it would be nice to maintain my pre-Snow Miser weight just one year.
Why I allowed all that hard work to go to waste escapes me, but if I were to guess, it probably had something to do with how much I hate exercise and love whoopie pies.
The thing is, as much as I hate running, once I get back into a groove with it, the challenge excites me. I become obsessed with going further and faster, and I like seeing the weight melt away.
Believe it or not, there’s a somewhat handsome guy under all this muck. I saw him once, and I was impressed.
While I might not have the motivational skills to get me off the comfort foods and back on the road, I’m lucky to have someone who cares about me enough to give me the push I need.
As it turns out, everything sounds better with an Irish accent…even “You need to start running and eating healthier, Austin”.
And so, I took the first step in my latest wellness journey this morning. Actually, I took three miles worth of steps.
Despite it being only 21 degrees, I put on my warmest running toga, piled several more layers on top of that, laced up my sneakers, and hit the road.
I’d like to say I hit it hard, but my first run of the year was a slow, steady struggle. I almost had to call the Fire Department because my lungs were on fire. While my legs are long and still somewhat muscular, they felt like giant concrete pillars that became heavier with every mile. As expected, my nose ran faster than I did.
My time wasn’t actually that bad when you factor in that it’s been three months since the last time I moved at a pace faster than, “I need to get to the grocery store before they run out of chocolate cake”.
I didn’t feel good about the way my body reacted. It groaned and sputtered like a car about to blow its engine. I’ve let my temple be overrun by fat cells.
I’ve already made a promise that I would go to the gym in the morning. I’m not going to want to go because I will certainly wake up sore, miserable, fat, and out of shape. However, I never lie to the person who asked me to promise that the gym would be on tomorrow’s agenda.
I know that it’s important for me to get back into shape, and that I need to do it for me. Right now, however, I’m grateful that I have someone who can get through my layers of fat, laziness, and witty excuses to motivate me to be active.
So brace yourselves, Modern Philosophers, there’s probably going to be a sharp increase in annoying running post on this blog in the near future.
Before you run off screaming at the prospect of that, could you follow me on Pinterest? There’s even a board about how much I hate running!