Im not sure how it happened, but after a great patch of running several times a week, and doing some good distances in weekends, sometime round the very end of last year… I lost all enthusiasm.
I think the fact that when I was running, I was running for at least an hour started to put me off. I think also, the festive season had it’s impact and Im a shocker for being unable to turn down the offer of a drink. Getting up bright and energised the next day, becomes a lot harder, even after two wines the night before.
I muddled my way through the holidays, had a great few beach runs at Mt Maunganui, then started the year with, erm, a total halt.
The only thing worse than realising you are a fat, lazy bum, and that you’ve managed to increase your weight by 3.5kgs in a mere few months… Is doing it straight after one of the fittest times of your life. The worst, worst feeling in the [exercise] world, is turning up at the gym and not only being unable to do stuff you breezed through a short time ago, but that after each session, finding you can barely walk for days.
All that hard work undone.
I’m so disappointed in myself.
Im trying very hard to silence the voices in my head telling me that Ive failed, and focus on getting back into form, one step at a time. This week’s been reasonable, I wen out less (though still too much), and I made it to 3 fairly hard gym sessions, including a run this morning where I found I could still survive 40 minutes (which came as a pleasant surprise.)
I suppose the lesson here is that people like me can never stop. I have way too much of a tendency to choose chips and beers over exercise and salad, and once Im out of the habit, the slippery slope isn’t so much of a slope as a vertical drop. Good to know I suppose, but I feel like I have a very small inkling of what it must be like to be an alcoholic who has stopped drinking. Every single day, for the rest of my life, I have to think about eating and exercise.
It’s a little depressing.