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Sometimes it's the random Sunday afternoon walk that gives you the best indication of where your motivation level currently resides.
I left the apartment building against my will. I have spent the day with an uneasy, nauseous pit in my stomach. I don't actually believe there is a medical reason for this. For about a week, I have had some bouts of gastronomical discomfort…or, to put it more vividly, I have felt like an alien creature or some sort of snaggle-toothed weevil is living in my abdomen. It comes and goes.
I also had a simple errand to run. Redbox. I had to return "This is 40," a so-so movie only made amusing to me because of my current obsession with finishing up a start-to-finish Lost marathon that started back in February. Those who have seen the film will understand why the "JJ Abrams is ruining our daughter's life…I hate that nerd!" was actually funny in my own random context.
After finishing up one of the aforementioned Lost episodes, I turned off the TV, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys and headphones and left without thinking. Because thinking leads to talking myself out of leaving the house. I walked uphill to my Redbox destination, waited entirely too long for the guy in front of me to ultimately choose Iron Man for tonight's viewing, and then a funny thing happened: I turned right instead of left, deciding on a whim that I should walk in the direction of my favorite local park instead of turning back downhill to go home.
My goals were simple: every few blocks uphill I'd give myself an "out" to turn back and head home. Pretty soon I found myself a little over a mile from home rounding the park loop and starting back. Nausea and relief intermixing the entire trip.
The point is pretty simple. Sometimes it's not about the distance, speed or meeting some far-reaching goal. It's about the simple act of movement, and pushing yourself when no one else will know what you've done. Well, everyone except those who read this blog. This was my shortest walk of the weekend; and yet it's the most satisfying.
I left the apartment building against my will. I have spent the day with an uneasy, nauseous pit in my stomach. I don't actually believe there is a medical reason for this. For about a week, I have had some bouts of gastronomical discomfort…or, to put it more vividly, I have felt like an alien creature or some sort of snaggle-toothed weevil is living in my abdomen. It comes and goes.
I also had a simple errand to run. Redbox. I had to return "This is 40," a so-so movie only made amusing to me because of my current obsession with finishing up a start-to-finish Lost marathon that started back in February. Those who have seen the film will understand why the "JJ Abrams is ruining our daughter's life…I hate that nerd!" was actually funny in my own random context.
After finishing up one of the aforementioned Lost episodes, I turned off the TV, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys and headphones and left without thinking. Because thinking leads to talking myself out of leaving the house. I walked uphill to my Redbox destination, waited entirely too long for the guy in front of me to ultimately choose Iron Man for tonight's viewing, and then a funny thing happened: I turned right instead of left, deciding on a whim that I should walk in the direction of my favorite local park instead of turning back downhill to go home.
My goals were simple: every few blocks uphill I'd give myself an "out" to turn back and head home. Pretty soon I found myself a little over a mile from home rounding the park loop and starting back. Nausea and relief intermixing the entire trip.
The point is pretty simple. Sometimes it's not about the distance, speed or meeting some far-reaching goal. It's about the simple act of movement, and pushing yourself when no one else will know what you've done. Well, everyone except those who read this blog. This was my shortest walk of the weekend; and yet it's the most satisfying.
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