On Sunday, my best friend and I woke up early enough to put in a full cardio work out. I had originally intended to only do a 10km run or so – which is generally what I like to do on either Sunday or Saturday mornings. The plan was to run 4km or so to one of the beautiful national parks nearby, and then run and snake my way through the park to the other side, then back. However, as things usually go when my best friend is involved, we had to take it to another extreme and the plan became: run 4km to the park, do 6 rounds of uphill sprints, jog to the other end of the park, eat, and then (this part was upon my insistence) walk back home. We did it all, of course. The two and a half hour ordeal was fantastic for 2 reasons: 1) I really worked up a sweat and after that fatastic Saturday cheat day, I needed it; and, 2) it had me burning up for another 24 hours at least thereafter.
Unfortunately, I am only human, and so normally the days that immediately follow a workout like that – with all the soreness, and body heat that come with it, I feel much less inclined to do anything strenuous. I know you’re supposed to take rest days, so I try to allow myself some leeway and attempt not to be too hard on myself, but the trouble with stopping is starting up again. Gaining momentum requires such discipline sometimes that I find myself making up reasons not to be bothered anymore. “I’ll start again next week,” is a common phrase that passes through my head. Still, the last few months have been pretty good in that I do that (or at least try to) less and less. But how? Well, that parts easy.
- I psyche myself up (like I’m doing right now).
- I tell someone I’m going to work out beforehand so that I feel accountable. I don’t like to say things I don’t mean…so if I’ve said it, I know it’ll haunt me all evening if I don’t get off my butt and do it.
- I play some inspirational music like Eye of the Tiger, obviously.*
- I read excerpts from The Four Hour Body.
- I close my eyes and dramatically imagine the me on the inside that is hiding underneath this general half-inch/inch-thick layer of soft-and-fluffy on my body. Then I channel my inner Zoolander, throw some Blue Steel at my mental mirror, and bow to imagined applause.
- And lastly, I watch this video:
Because if Briohny Smyth can be this strong, beautiful superwoman in a glamorous apartment with a naked man sleeping in her bed while she does some yoga flow in the morning…………………so…can…I…someday.
*This is not true. …or well, not all the time.