My blogging buddy Jennifer has been largely absent from the blogosphere these past months. I have missed her. She's been frenetically busy, travelling back and forth and all over the place, funerals, weddings, Taylor's graduation -- there are plenty of reasons why she'd drop blogging as a priority.
Today, though, she blogged about not blogging, about not exercising or eating right, or the dozen others things that we know are good for us and still do not do. She ranks her station right now as full-on 100%, four-alarm patheticness, which isn't really a word, but I didn't think pointing that out would be particularly helpful.
The truth is, I'm not in that same place. Mine ranks somewhere around the half-hearted, 33.3%, two-alarm inadequacy, which is a word, but I'm not gloating.
And looking through certain lenses, she may be in the better place, if you give any credence at all to the whole needing-to-hit-rock-bottom-to rise-up thing. I love that she is willing to be transparent. It gives me hope.
But what to do in the middle-life plateau phase where it feels like the best you can do is mark time? How do you shake yourself out of the ennui?
I went to the gym a couple of times last week. Meh. Starting this week, I don't have to work until 6:30 every evening, so tonight I tried going at the same time Bob has been going for the last six weeks when he gets home from work. We were getting our shoes on and I was saying, "I hate the track, hatehatehate it, I would rather go to the dentist than go to the track. It's walking in a circle, round and round and round. It's so boring I want to claw my eyes out" and on and on the complaining went, at least in my head.
Per Nick's instructions, I dropped the weight by a third and started doing 4 sets of 20 instead of 3 sets of 10. That wasn't bad. But then, track time. Round and round and round, I started watching the couple of kids down below on the turf chasing a soccer ball and was jealous. Where are the other 40-something women who would play with me?
Finally I'd had enough, so I signaled to Bob that was just going to walk home so he didn't have to interrupt his workout.
And then, it was like the skies opening and God sending rainbows and butterflies in beams of light. The walk home is almost entirely uphill and it was fantastic. There was a warm breeze and flowers and robins and bunnies, and mountains in the distance. I also had my tunes, and there is always something inspiring about hearing "I Run for Life" even when I'm not running. "And they cut into my skin and they cut into my body, but they will never get a piece of my soul . . "
It's not a cure-all for complete adequacy in one evening, but it's definitely a start.
Today, though, she blogged about not blogging, about not exercising or eating right, or the dozen others things that we know are good for us and still do not do. She ranks her station right now as full-on 100%, four-alarm patheticness, which isn't really a word, but I didn't think pointing that out would be particularly helpful.
The truth is, I'm not in that same place. Mine ranks somewhere around the half-hearted, 33.3%, two-alarm inadequacy, which is a word, but I'm not gloating.
And looking through certain lenses, she may be in the better place, if you give any credence at all to the whole needing-to-hit-rock-bottom-to rise-up thing. I love that she is willing to be transparent. It gives me hope.
But what to do in the middle-life plateau phase where it feels like the best you can do is mark time? How do you shake yourself out of the ennui?
I went to the gym a couple of times last week. Meh. Starting this week, I don't have to work until 6:30 every evening, so tonight I tried going at the same time Bob has been going for the last six weeks when he gets home from work. We were getting our shoes on and I was saying, "I hate the track, hatehatehate it, I would rather go to the dentist than go to the track. It's walking in a circle, round and round and round. It's so boring I want to claw my eyes out" and on and on the complaining went, at least in my head.
Per Nick's instructions, I dropped the weight by a third and started doing 4 sets of 20 instead of 3 sets of 10. That wasn't bad. But then, track time. Round and round and round, I started watching the couple of kids down below on the turf chasing a soccer ball and was jealous. Where are the other 40-something women who would play with me?
Finally I'd had enough, so I signaled to Bob that was just going to walk home so he didn't have to interrupt his workout.
And then, it was like the skies opening and God sending rainbows and butterflies in beams of light. The walk home is almost entirely uphill and it was fantastic. There was a warm breeze and flowers and robins and bunnies, and mountains in the distance. I also had my tunes, and there is always something inspiring about hearing "I Run for Life" even when I'm not running. "And they cut into my skin and they cut into my body, but they will never get a piece of my soul . . "
It's not a cure-all for complete adequacy in one evening, but it's definitely a start.
0 comments:
Post a Comment