It's A Choice

I've been posting cellphone shots of my treadmill display to my Facebook page on the mornings that I run. Partially because I want to keep track of my times, and partially as sort of an exercise in accountability - more than a day without a picture is my signal to send the workout police. A couple of surprising side-effects have sprung up, the first being an amazing show of support from my friends, both near and far. It makes me wish I'd gone "public" with my fitness endeavors in the past, simply because their enthusiasm and encouragement help keep me going.

The second? Well, I'm getting a lot of "Oh my GAWD, how do you get up so EARLY?" (My runs are usually done around 3AM, since I have to be at work most mornings by 4:45AM.) Someone even commented on it at a party I went to this past weekend. "I don't know how you do it."

The answer is surprisingly simple, and it's taken me a really long time to get to this lightbulb moment:

It's a choice.

I can choose to get up and run at the only time of day when I won't be rushed, or interrupted, or feel guilty for not doing something else. Or, I can lay in bed another hour, then spend the rest of the day alternately finding excuses NOT to run and beating myself up for not running. Is it an easy choice? Not really. I won't even lie and say I leap out of bed filled with an overwhelming desire to get on the treadmill and sweat and gasp for air and (occasionally) cry my eyes out. For lack of a better phrase, it fucking SUCKS.

But you know what sucks worse? Weighing over 200 pounds and not being able to keep up with my kid. Never being able to find clothes that fit. Being self-conscious, oh, EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. Seeing myself in the mirror and thinking, "Dang, did that recessive Michelin Man gene decide to pop up or what?"

So I choose. I choose to drag myself out of bed, put workout clothes on, get on the treadmill, and (beware, Smithism) run it out. Every step, every tenth of a mile is a choice. Keep going? Push harder? Or give up and get off?

Now, I don't always make the right choice, or the best choice. Feel free to go back an entry or two and read about my Halloween weekend debacle. And there have certainly been mornings when I should have, could have run longer or harder or faster, but I didn't. But after every bad choice is an opportunity to make a better one. Ate cake for breakfast? Well, you can give up and eat crap for the rest of the day, or you can choose to eat something better at the next meal.

Again, this is such a simple concept, and I can't for the life of me think of why it's taken thirty-one years for me to get it. But I do. I get it now. For the majority of my adult life, I've chosen to not take care of myself, to let myself get out of shape, and I've chosen to make excuses and hide from the truth. That's no one's fault, there's no one to blame. It was my choice.