I ran for the first time last night in about four months. I didn’t run far, and I didn’t run fast. By the end, I felt like I was having an asthma attack. I’m writing this full of embarrassment. For over a year, I have been going through phases of running and then going weeks and months of not running and then deciding I want to start once more. I’m hoping one of these running phases never ends. So far, I have been unsuccessful.
I’ve never been gung-ho about exercising. At times, I’ve tried to convince myself that I am. It works for a while and then I decide I would rather gorge myself with ice cream and skip the gym, and do it again the next day, and the next day. And then soon, I find I haven’t been to the gym or exercised in months.
Back to the run I had last night, I went with Avery, who is far more physically adept than I. His long legs can easily run twice as fast as mine. So by the end of our run, he was breathing easy while I was huffing and puffing without the ability to speak for a couple minutes.
I know I’m capable of getting back in the game. I was once running up to three miles a day a few times a week. But I fell off the wagon because life happened, and I got busy. But I shouldn’t ever be too busy to be healthy. Diabetes and obesity and high blood pressure can be prevented in many cases with exercise and diet. (The diet thing is going to take some work.)
It’s all mental. Obviously telling myself that I’m enthusiastic about exercise and fitness doesn’t work because I know that’s a lie. I need to try something else like, “Exercise or you will lose ten years off your life span”. Or “Exercise now and you can live easier when you’re elderly.” And maybe one day I will grow to love fitness. For now, I will huff and puff my way back into daily exercise.