put one foot in front of the other. repeat ad nauseum

i don’t know why i’m forcing myself to write when i don’t feel like writing. i think it’s because i have this new notion that i could get that mojo back if i just keep at it. so no matter how blah i feel, i must write something. plus, i resolved this year to log my days in some form of journal. why not this blog?

this is the same feeling i get running. i don’t know why i’m forcing myself to run even when i don’t feel like running. the other day, as i dragged myself to the bathroom to change into my trainers, my mind scurried from one excuse to the next, trying to find ways to make me sit it out for the day. but i realized (with some mental pain) that if i find excuses then, i would find excuses later. and that would just lead me to eventually quit. because i’m a quitter. but not this time.

oh, but i did quit smoking. so i’m a quitter in that sense. i’m not saying that with pride. i’m saying that it got in the way of breathing regularly when i reach points of exhaustion. i am not a health activist. i finish a whole can of pik-nik after i exercise. i know there are people who do fitness training yet maintain the habit of smoking. i’m not one of those blessed individuals. i am one who gets winded out of my skull.

going back to writing, i still haven’t come across anything that could inspire me when i feel, well, uninspired. some people offered their own preferences, maybe i should try some out myself. this blogger said running “sometimes, takes (him) there too”, let’s see where it takes me.

going back to running, i still haven’t figured out a way to get rid of the laziness that sweeps over me just before i pound the streets. but there was one day when i decided to channel richard simmons. i can’t recall why him of all exercise video people, i simply guessed that the thought of him would keep me entertained enough to forget the time. so with richard simmons as my existential guide, i clipped the streets on a balmy afternoon, birds trilling in the trees, blossoms peeking through shrubbery, most likely a campy smile on my face as i waved at tourists on their yellow and pink vespas-for-hire. when i ran past a gentleman (the father?) and a young lady (the daughter?) crossing a street, the gentleman lets out this trite jogging witticism, “you must be running late,” to which i beamed and cheerfully responded despite my shortness of breath, “running late for fitness!”

i will no longer channel richard simmons.

wait… i think i still want to. with disco tank top, candy stripe shorts and bunched up socks. maybe this will make me want to write, too.

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