Four days since the leaf turned over and I'm still kicking. Three pounds down, ain't ate no cheezburegers, and I've managed to get in three more or less vigorous workouts. I dare say I'm feeling spry, if not quite unstoppable. I'll take it.
But of course the land mines await my approach, as always. Fuck it, it's Christmas! And I'm so stressed out and work is so crazy and somebody ordered pizza for the lunch meeting and I didn't have time to go to the gym and then I'm in Vegas for work, and you simply *can't* be healthy in Vegas, because really, what's the point? And then it's my wedding anniversary, and then it's my son's birthday party, and then it's Valentine's Day, and I'm still *so* busy and somebody ordered Chinese for the lunch meeting and then...
That's the old story, anyway. A process of surrender, one day at a time, as if I were completely and totally powerless in the face of a vast conspiracy intended to convince me to give up. As if I had no say in the matter whatsoever, as if my life was not my own.
Bullshit. Please, finally, sitting here closer to 40 than 30, let me be done with that weak-willed, passive numbskullery. Every moment, every action or refusal, is a choice. My choice. Whether I like it or not. Man up.
Four days in, three pounds done, and I ain't ate no cheezeburgers. I'll take it.
Reminds me of a great definition of discipline:
ReplyDeleteDoing what's known to be best, instead of reacting to base impulses.
For extra credit, pause and ponder each verb and noun in that sentence by itself. You might find therein something you can use in your journey.
Great post! ...so true.
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