This morning I weighed myself. When I figured out what the scale says in the dim light, I was frustrated and panicked. I've been running for a month. Yet there it is, I still weigh the same. The panic for meaninglessness kicks in. What I fear the most is that the effort doesn't pay off, which makes you feel painfully stupid. So I have to do an emotional first-aid. Did your friend just say that your arms look thinner last week? You can also feel that when grabbing your biceps, right? You do look in better shapes, you know that? Maybe the weight doesn't change because you are losing fat and building muscles at the same time. I kinda heard you said that you are not running for losing weight, but for your heart, a higher spirit. And you do lead a healthier lifestyle now. So what's all the fuss about? You've been fooling yourself?
See? Writing and running are the two things that work well to help you maintain your sanity.
I make the 5 km-running my priority of the day. To be able to rise at 5 a.m. I have to be in bed at ten, or else I wouldn't be able to function and it will be like hell for the rest of the day. A schedule inevitable makes the night shorter. You feel like you only got a limited night. When you finally get all set there is only two hours left. You can't fool yourself with "there is still plenty of time to use from the night" nonsense. It kinda urges you to get things done quicker. And the guilt for not spending your time more wisely is also tremendous. Like yesterday, the quilt for wasting time on TV shows always comes afterwards, not during. But it did yesterday, I can actually hear my inner self saying: you are not supposed to be doing this right now.
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