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I Run, But I Am Not A Runner — Part 2
Motivation.
My motivation for running is due to a character defect. Every morning, I ascend that lying piece of crap commonly called a scale. Though I know it must be lying, it is consistent, and as any politician knows, tell a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.
And pudgy little feet.
Complicit with the scale is my wardrobe. In particular, both my belt and my pants shrink in unison. I think the shrinkage is due to the humidity, but it does reinforce the misinformation from the scale.
Though I often find the activity cathartic, I don’t look forward to running. I only do it to postpone that inevitable day when I can (sort of) run/walk/hike no more.
I run from my house and back to my house. I don’t drive to places to run. If I got in the car to go running, I’m sure the delay in from getting into the car to arriving at the running spot would provide me with ample time to figure out a diverted route allowing purchase of bacon or ice cream, depending on the time of day. Or some other tasty treat. And you just can’t run with goodies in your stomach.
Particularly the dog bacon,
included for the enjoyment of canine readers.
And it’s hard enough to get motivated even without having to deal with driving. The report from the scale must sustain motivation through a series of activities that get one prepared to move. The set of prosthetics for daily living must be jettisoned in favor of another set suited for activity. Only the smelly orthotics go both ways.
Next time — Equipment, preparation, and the first step.