I know this will come as a big shocker *eye roll*, but I’ve been a bit of a slacker as of late.
I could blame my former trainer for being an incredibly unprofessional loser that I had to fire. I could blame the attacks that I’ve been under as a public union worker and the overwhelming, subsequent stress that goes with that. I could blame Canada. Hell, I could blame a whole heavenly host of beings/issues/distractions for me being a lazy mofo, but it all comes down to this:
I slack because it requires zero planning.
Planning requires thought. Planning requires time. Planning requires effort. Planning requires…planning.
You know what doesn’t require planning?
Couch potato-ing! Well, unless you’re one of those people who plans what they’re going to watch while being spudtastic, since, for the most part, having regular shows requires having a memory that recalls what day and time they’re on the boobtube. But that eliminates the fun of channel surfing. No planning it is!
Course the deal with mashing oneself into the sofa (or the Lazyboy) is that despite their deliciousness, potatoes are fattening. Okay, not necessarily fattening until you add the butter, sour cream, and cheesy goodness, but what the hell would be the point of eating a dry potato? Seriously. Does anyone even DO that??
And the problem with fattening is that it does nothing to help one fit into any pair of pants that actually zip and/or button. If I could be a professional TV watcher, sweatpants would actually be a plus. (Comfort allows for full focus on Castle’s ass…I mean storyline.) Alas, my full-time job requires that I wear appropriate attire (reads: not sweatpants).
In the process of running my first 5K in ages today, I had the epiphany that fattening equals bad. No one should be this out of shape this early in life. I needed a plan. It wasn’t just that at 37:40 my grandmother (in her nineties) could roll her wheelchair faster than I was running. No. I’ve awakened to the fact that I don’t really like being a spud. There’s more to me than that. Or rather, I’d prefer there be less.
Oh sure, I can come up with every excuse in the book not to do it, but in the end, they are just that: excuses. So, today I sent a message to one of my old trainers that actually got results (not the injuries that I’ve been plagued with since I stopped training with him) out of me. Hope he responds.
If not, I am not going to use that as an excuse to pile on more cheddar. I am going to pull out my books on training and get myself busy following through on a plan.
Because what’s that they say? A rolling spud gathers no moss? Hmm. Yeah, I’m dusting the moss off my ass and hitting the pavement. This girl with a plan is done with the couch…
