Yes I Can

Shiftless. Lethargic. Sluggish. Lazy bones.

On just about any day, you could utilize any of the above words to describe me, especially in the mornings. I love sleep – napping is a hobby and I’m addicted to the artful joy of closing my eyes. I am also a nocturnal creature (I’ve recently been described as an owl, but that’s a post for another time) who prefers the twilight of the moon and finds herself in peak performance in the dead of night. So for as much as much as I enjoy sunshine, come the break of day, I will stay immobilized in bed, drunk with sleep, unable to shake the comatose state that I’ve been in for hours. And once I am physically up (but still not mentally awake) I will lollygag, linger, lounge in my little bed until I feel fully prepared to face the day.

I’m not saying I always lack motivation. I couldn’t have come as far as I have professionally or personally if I didn’t have some kind of fire in my belly. So for big things, I got it under control (most of the time). But for little things like doing laundry or going grocery shopping or exercising, my lazy bottomed alter ego often makes long, guest appearances.

So you can understand how much to my surprise, the last month or so, I’ve been rising from my bed, shockingly with little resistance, to dress and go running. Huh?

My boyfriend who recently heard me bemoaning how my clothes weren’t fitting right, that I needed more endurance and how I was unhappy with how I was feeling with my body gave me a much needed, swift kick in the ass. Understand, he’s an athlete who’s been into fitness his entire life and is used to pushing his body’s physical limitations. Oh and did I mention that he’s training for a triathalon? Yeah, he’s one of those. So during one of our many conversations, he suggested that I start running again.

Again. As in that it had happened previously, although sporadically and never seriously. I took my first stab at vertical motion in 2004 when I moved back to New York with a badly healed sprained ankle and an extra 15 pounds as a result. Regaining strength and dropping the extra weight I had packed on due to my immobility were enough to get me walking, jogging and eventually running to get my legs and butt back into shape.

My second stab came when I joined a gym in 2005 and I realized I couldn’t climb a few flights of stairs without seriously gasping for breath and causing pain to shoot up my once muscular thighs. So the treadmill and I got tight. Like, running (although painfully slow) for an hour, tight. That great habit lasted, on and off, for a few years until my workaholic tendencies took over and I put closing an issue or finishing a presentation above my own health.

But since I started working from home, I realized I had no excuse. My workday is mine to craft. So what was I waiting for? I agreed and let him take me out for my first run on an unusually brisk August Saturday morning. After running till my head hurt and my stomach turned, I agreed that I would keep it up, because I knew that I owed it to myself.

That’s not to say that it’s been an easy habit to form. It started with my boo calling in the mornings on his way to work to inquire if I’d gone running yet or was planning to later. The idea of saying no just didn’t feel like an option. There’s something to be said about being held to your word. But something changed. After the first few weeks, before he would even call, I was rising from my bed, with little resistance, to dress and go running.

So while my boyfriend still calls every other morning on his way to work to motivate me (God bless his heart) I know that the onus really falls on me. He can call all he wants, throw me outta bed when he’s here, but ultimately it’s my own self- determination that has to rear its head and make my feet move.

So while I am immensely grateful to the man for being a catalyst (*thanks babe*) I’m pretty damn proud of myself for actually following through. I’ve been talking about running and taking better care of myself for forever. But have allowed everything else to take precedence. There’s a lot to be said about self-motivation- that something inside of you that forces you to think and realize that you control what you want to do and that things are actually in your hands. And so waking up and putting on my running shoes and walking out of the door was a major reminder that I am capable of shaping things: my body, my mind, my life. I own agency and I can make things happen. I simply have to want to. And I do.