And out of my fridge.
All kidding aside, there are times I must simply marvel at the things I do or don’t do. It’s so awesome that I know I didn’t do it by myself. In Him alone am I strong.
I last wrote that I’ve not been training how I like. This means I’ve had some extra time for which I did not plan. How’s the saying go again – idle hands are a fat ass’s workshop? I’m living proof. I’ve definitely been humbled these past few days, in that I was pleased that I had stopped thinking working out gives me the right to eat whatever I want. Turns out I’m even more twisted than that. I figure – I’m not working out. What else is there to do but eat. Why should I bother eating healthily? It’s not as though, oh, the 14-15 hours I’m awake and not training are worth fueling well.
I KNOW that some of my anxiety to get back to training has to do with the fact that I’m concerned about regaining the weight I’ve lost. I genuinely do miss the rush and endorphins that training brings. I love that I have reached a point where not training feels unnatural. However, eating right for the sake of doing so – just because it’s good for me – is still very foreign to me. It’s as though the muscle memory of my previously unhealthy lifestyle wants to kick in and I feel too tired to fight it.
Incidentally, triathlon actually keeps me on the streets via bike and run. Maybe this was not an aptly chosen title. Pray for me, y’all.