Wait, I haven’t even tried to make my point yet, have I? Well, it’s a perfect example. Basically, I have little to no self-control. As such, I’m drinking wine on a Tuesday night when I should be doing... pretty much anything else.
Somewhere in the misty distance of my past I managed to lose a bit of weight and get fit. As I’m only human, I can’t bring myself to think that I’m skinny, hot or fit enough right now and there’s nothing wrong with making more of an effort, is there? Amirite? I know I am. Nobody is EVER secure with the way they look. You can feel free to prove me wrong. Prove to me that you’re a perfect person that loves themselves perfectly, and I’ll personally lick your face. Or your chest. Because perfect is yummy. Imperfect is also yummy, but only in the correct ratio. People are awesome. Sorry, what was I talking about? I forgot. Excuse me, I’m going to get more wine.
So I had half a frozen pizza for dinner, sort of a healthy choice compared to some of the other unhealthy shit I could have eaten. Put a little extra cheese on it, damn good. Except I burned the roof of my mouth, as per fucking usual. It hurts. Hang on, this isn’t relevant.
I’ve been trying to get motivated. I’ve been trying to run three days, gym three days. Probably run at the gym two out of three days, so that would be five runs every week. Pretty hardcore, or at least it would be if the weather wasn’t so shit and I could actually drag myself out of bed to run of a morning. I’ve been doing pushups (of the girlie variety). Sit-ups, of the military variety. Pull-ups, assisted. Gradually reducing the assist weight. I can feel my posture improving. I can sprint at faster than 15 km/hr. But is this good enough?
I have been trying to control my calories, but almost every day I forget to fill my intake in. Many days, I cheat. It would be so easy to backslide here, just grab a bag of Tasty Cheese CCs, eat the whole thing. Overdose on butter. Drink a whole bottle of whatever the hell I want to, because fuck it, who really cares? In the long run, what does it really matter? Isn’t being happy more important than being a fucking superhero?
I find myself wondering if it really is worth getting out of bed at 5am just to run, or to get ready for work. Nobody’s thanking me for it. I have no real goals to aspire to, apart from a personal best at the City2Surf.
Actually, that is a pretty good goal.
Food-wise, I could really binge. I could revisit my beloved childhood game of “What Can I Fry?”. But rather than resorting to excess, I just fuck up a little bit at a time. A cookie here, a fun-sized chocolate bar there. Not enough for me to really enjoy myself, but enough that if I’m making any progress whatsoever, it’s really gradual. I probably shouldn’t beat myself up about this. I’m probably actually doing this the right way.
A confession - I’ve been smoking. Now, I haven’t really gone into this on my blog before apart from a few measly mentions, but I am an on-again, off-again smoker. I don’t smoke a great deal, but I do smoke a couple of cigarettes most days. You all can feel free to give me a hard time about it. I know it’s wrong, I know it’s been doing me damage. I want to stop. I don’t have any excuses.
Man, I really messed up the roof of my mouth. The wine stings like a bitch.
Reading back over this post, it seems a little negative. And blurry. Hold on, let me clean my glasses. Nope, that didn’t work. I’ll carry on.
I’m going to clarify: Life is fucking awesome for me at the moment. I’m having a great time. Work is full-on, and challenging, and the challenge is rewarding to me. I’m feeling strong, and I’m feeling fast. I like my hair, for once in my life. I’ve been wearing it curly. I’ll go whole weeks without tying my hair up. Ringlets a go-go. I feel sexy. For all the whinging I just did about eating too much, I’ve been drinking like 3 litres of water almost every day, and the food I do eat is far more balanced than it would have been back in the old days.
Today at the gym I had a great run. I did a plank until I collapsed from sheer exhaustion and it was for a lot longer than I expected. I’ve been walking up the stairs to my office, nine floors. It isn’t getting easier but I’m sure it will, eventually.
If I originally had a point, I don’t remember what it is now.
Uh. I feel bad about writing this post. I probably shouldn’t post it, but as previously expressed, I don’t really have any self-control.
Here’s a picture I drew in Draw Something. Look, a distraction!
Wheeeeee!
Don’t drink and blog, boys and girls.
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