That Sprout woke up with a fever yesterday morning and as such, was unable to go to school. I didn't want to take her to the gym with me and risk her being "Patient Zero" for some kind of outbreak, so I didn't make it to the gym until about 5:30 last night.
I had been afraid that the place would be packed, but I was pleasantly surprised. It was no more populated than usual. I did 30 minutes of cardio (17 minute mile on the treadmill and 15 minutes on the bike). Then I did my workout for the day. Arms, specifically triceps. Mine are weak. The exercises sucked, but I did them.
I had two thoughts during/after my workout.
1. A year is a long time. A lot of change can happen in a year. I could be someone I don't even recognize a year from now. And that would be pretty cool.
2. I have long entertained the fantasy that "when I get to where I need to be" I can "maintain" by running and doing yoga. This fantasy works under the assumption that underneath all my bad habits there is a manic pixie dream girl who loves to run and do yoga. This notion is part of a larger fantasy about "who I want to be." But the problem is this: I can want to be a tiny thing like Christina Ricci or Thora Birch, but wanting it ain't gonna make it happen. I will probably have to continue a rigorous training program for the rest of my life. Now, maybe that means that I get serious about some yoga and running. I don't know. But the idea that I can hold a pose and eat bon-bons at the same time - that shit doesn't happen in real life.
I don't like who I am. I want to be someone else. Maybe that's what I'm hiding from under here.
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