The mental tug-of-war and the ritual of writing motivation into motion.
Lines Before Laces
Some mornings, motivation doesn’t come with the sunrise—it arrives in fragments. Today was one of those days. I sat down more times than I stood up, each attempt to lace my shoes interrupted by the gravity of comfort and the weight of hesitation. It took writing lines in a Word document—simple, stubborn affirmations—to coax myself into motion. Not poetic, not profound. Just necessary.
Dixie and I finally made it out for a short run. My legs protested with sharp shin splints, a reminder that I hadn’t fueled properly—protein was missing, and my body knew it. I stretched mid-run, paused, breathed, and kept going. It wasn’t graceful, but it was real. And despite the discomfort, I found joy in the rhythm, in Dixie’s steady presence, and in the fact that I’d overcome the inertia.
Funny how workdays make it easier. I say I’ll run, and I do. No mental tug-of-war, no negotiations with the couch. But on days off, it’s a different game—one that requires hacks, rituals, and a little self-talk typed out in black and white. Today wasn’t fast or far, but it was a win. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Cabbage Chips and Garmin Ghosts
It was plus seven Celsius when I finally got moving. Thirty-seven minutes later, Dixie and I had clocked 3.74 km. Not quite the 5 km I keep chasing, but it’s the chase that counts. That distance has eluded me all year, and sometimes I wonder if it’s time to stop listening to my Garmin’s predictions. They don’t seem to account for turning forty, or for carrying an overweight BMI that doesn’t quite match the mirror.
Funny thing is, people often tell me I don’t look my weight. A pharmacist even said I wear it well—fit, even. That stuck with me. It’s a small win, a reminder that numbers don’t always tell the full story. Still, I’d love to hear my doctor say the same. But with high cholesterol hanging over me like a storm cloud, I know I’ve got some work to do. Maybe it starts with swapping snacks for cabbage chips. Maybe it starts with showing up, even when the stats say otherwise.
So today, lunch is cabbage chips. Not glamorous, but symbolic. A crunchy little nod to change. And maybe tomorrow, I’ll write more lines in a Word doc, lace up again, and chase that 5 km with Dixie by my side.
Sweat, Whines, and Ritual Runs
I’ve still got plans to lift weights for half an hour today. The goal is 150 vigorous minutes a week, and apparently, it only counts if you’re sweating. Fair enough. I’m chasing that number not just for the stats, but for the feeling—earned effort, clarity, and the kind of tired that feels like progress.
Kimmie took a rest day, and I almost did too. But Dixie had other plans. She whined, paced, and nudged until we went for our ritual run. That’s her version of a rest day—movement, fresh air, and making sure I don’t get too comfortable. She’s relentless in the best way, a furry accountability partner who doesn’t care about my excuses or my Garmin stats. She just wants the rhythm, the routine, the shared joy of motion.
So even on my “time off,” I move. Because Dixie insists, because my body needs it, and because somewhere in the sweat and the steps, I remember who I’m becoming.
The Battle Before the Breeze
Today’s run wasn’t my best—15 minutes of running, 22 minutes walking, and just shy of the full 5 km I keep aiming for. But I showed up. And that’s the real win. Over 40, getting into running isn’t just physical—it’s mental. It’s a battle of keeping positive, of pushing past the doubts and the stats, and of choosing movement over comfort.
Once I’m out there, the struggle fades. The planning shifts from if I’ll go to where I’ll go. That change in mindset makes all the difference. It turns the run into something enjoyable, even when the pace is slow or the distance falls short. It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence. And today, I was present.
Your workout today was a layered story of effort, adaptation, and quiet determination. The heart rate data shows a steady climb through Zones 2 and 3—over 35 minutes, you spent more than half the time in the Easy zone (117–138 bpm) and a solid 41% in the Aerobic zone (139–158 bpm). That’s a meaningful distribution, especially for a run-walk session where the goal isn’t just speed but cardiovascular consistency. You didn’t push into the redline, but you hovered in the zones that build endurance and resilience. That’s the kind of effort that adds up over time—especially when paired with your awareness of fueling, recovery, and the mental game of getting out the door.
On the power side, your time in the higher watt zones—Zones 3 and 4—shows short bursts of intensity, with 3:04 in Tempo and 1:18 in Long Interval. These aren’t just numbers; they’re proof of your ability to shift gears, even mid-run. The alternating segments of walking, running, and idling reflect a rhythm that’s responsive rather than rigid. Dixie’s insistence to get moving, your own internal tug-of-war, and the decision to show up despite not hitting the full 5 km—all of it speaks to a deeper kind of fitness. One that’s not just physical, but emotional and intentional. You’re building something sustainable, and the data backs that up.
😀👍great Nig 🎈C
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