in which I am a lazy girl

4 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

It kept snowing throughout the night; I woke up to a barely respectable cover on the ground. It doesn't matter: I'm thrilled to start the year off with at least a passing nod to proper winter weather. I walked to the BBQ chow hall for lunch just for the pleasure of being around the snow as it disappeared.

Of course, later tonight I just used the cold as an excuse. I needed to run- I took yesterday night off to stretch and rest, trying to be smart and only run four days in a row for the first few weeks. I hate recovery days, though, because starting back up is always such a bother. My mind will go to great lengths to try and convince me that I'd be better off just slipping into sweats and watching movies in bed.

I can't go out there, my monkeymind chittered. The ground is icy. Slippery, slick. I'll fall midstride and break something, my leg probably, and then I'll have to go home for medical care and my boss will need to replace me out here and then I won't be able to come back when I'm healed and I'll fail to meet my financial goals and I'll have to go back to an office job which will make me miserable thus making the people around me miserable and these last 8 months will have been for nothing and I will have COMPLETELY LET EVERYONE INCLUDING MYSELF DOWN. I will stay inside and not run for the sake of everyone, damnit.

All that drama because I am, by nature, a lazy girl. I slipped into my running shoes and told myself I'd jaunt out to the hard bathrooms (made out of metal shipping crates instead of port-a-johns, this is what passes for luxury in my life these days) and see how the ground was. No commitments. Halfway there, I broke into an easy run and here I am, half an hour later and considerably sweatier. Lucky for me, another run down and utter, humiliating failure only narrowly averted.

I am always amazed by that part of myself- that weak but persistent voice in the back of my head (the monkeymind) that pushes me towards the self- destructive or self- indulgent. It never obsessively prods me to do anything positive for myself; for example, I am never fighting an irrepressible urge to eat more dark leafy greens. It is always asking for a cigarette, or a chocolate bar; it always wants to skip a workout and it never wants to read my new gardening book. I bet other folks' versions of the monkeymind is what makes them read The Enquirer, watch Regis, or rent Mel Gibson movies. Everyone knows those things aren't good for a person.

I spend a lot of time fighting that bit. I haven't made all these positive life changes out of willpower but rather out of white hot spite- hate for that chittering lazy piece of my mind.

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