Those are about the only thoughts going through my head right now.
I’m sure if you look at the time between my first post when I was all like “yeah I’m gonna crush this” and now you’ll notice a difference of about two months. A deflating, eating-fueled two months.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had, say, picked up a vegetable or a fruit. Nope. I had to pick up things like Blue Bell ice cream. And Culver’s. And onion rings.
Needless to say, I’m worse off than I started.
But here I am, seventeen weeks away from a half marathon, and three weeks away from a 10k. To put it mildly: I’m in deep [insert non-offensive word here].
The plan that I’ve chosen for the half marathon is a sixteen-week plan. In my head, I keep thinking, “nah, I can start next week!” But that brain has lied to me before, and it’s attempting to do the same thing again.
According to my training plan (which can be found on PopSugar here), yesterday I was supposed to do 2 miles and 30 minutes of strength and stretching. Yeeaaaahhhh, that didn’t happen. We had a Mother’s Day celebration and I ended up walking 1.25 miles to and from cheesecake, does that count? I purposely tried to walk as much as possible during the day, and I told myself that 1.25 miles is better than nothing. Still, I’m frustrated with myself for letting the first day pass by without much of a “hey girl this is your time let’s go for it!” attitude. Yes, that is what I tell myself to psych myself up.
Cut to day 2: today was supposed to be simple. Just 30 minutes of strength and stretching. No biggie! I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I wasn’t dreading it. Part of that is I kinda forgot about it… but hey, I remembered, I attempted it, that’s what counts.
So anyways. I popped in an old Pilates dvd and thought “no sweat.” Uh, sweat. Lots of it. My muscles were shaking so bad I couldn’t even do about a quarter of it. There was one move I literally could not do. You lean on your arm and lift up your whole body. I tried and failed spectacularly. And in those moments, when I literally couldn’t hoist myself up onto one arm, I realized with sheer horror the state I’ve let myself get into. I wanted to give up. I wanted to cry. Heck, I wanted ice cream.
I’m proud to say I allowed myself none of those three things.
Even though I’m daydreaming about ice cream as I type this, I’m not getting it. I’m typing this to ensure I won’t get it, either. Because I’ve told myself this time will be different. This time I’ll make changes I can live with; changes that will be habit-forming and last a lifetime. This time I will believe in myself and believe that I am worth fighting for. With a lot of work, a little luck, and copious amounts of grace I’m clinging to the fact that in a few months I’ll look back and see how far I’ve come. Because I was made for more than this.