It happened two days ago. While dozing off in the evening after trying to get the motivation to sit in front of the computer — or maybe even get a tablet and a pen — I got up and went for a run. It was a brief run, but it was a run nonetheless.
I don’t look as though I am fat, but it is only because of how I carry weight. I am stocky in appearance lending to the 220 to 230 pounds I weigh. I should be roughly 180 to 190 at best. When I was at peak shape, I was 195 and had distance yet to go. Needless to say, I am not in great shape.
It wouldn’t be as much of a problem except that I have two things wrong: knee pain and sleep apnea. Fortunately the knees are due to basic inflammation and the apnea is mild to moderate and being treated with an oral appliance to set my jaw at night, not a C-PAP. Neither problem is (at this time) chronic. If I were to lose weight, if I were to move to a low-carb diet, I might be able to push these problems more towards negliable. (Granted, the sleep apnea will never be resolved — I will forever have to wear the appliance to keep my jaw set at night, but my sleep would still be improved further!)
More than those two physical problems, I had another issue plaguing me: an unmotivated blasé attitude. It was impacting my writing and pretty much everything except sleep. Anyway, getting up and more active was the best answer to it. If I wanted to figure out how to write a lot again (meaning getting out of this funk), I need to force myself out and to be active. So I ran.
It wasn’t much. Maybe I made it 1/4 of a mile before my body said to stop. At one time I was running nearly 3 miles a day. I’ll get back there — slowly. The point was that I got up finally and made it happen. Too often I’ve talked or thought or debated on starting a new exercise regiment. This time I got up and did something.
Sometimes that is all it takes: taking action. No debate. No questions. Both had taken their time long enough. So I grabbed my running shoes and hit the pavement.
Then I did it again yesterday.