Psycho Struggle.

I had a crazy psychological struggle this morning, and I came out on top, but barely.
I woke up for Boot camp, without an alarm. The clock said 5:40am.
Perfect.
I could shower, eat something small, have a glass of water and chill until boot camp started at 6:30am.
Got up, headed downstairs to feed the cat...and glanced at the microwave clock.
4:40am. Not even 5am yet.
I forgot to "fall back" on the bedroom clock. Daylight savings.
I decided I should get the extra hour of sleep, so I went back to bed, closed my eyes.
Opened them and the clock said 6:28am.
FUCK!!!
Slept in. There'd be no chance I could make it on time now.
I was furious.
Then I realized...STILL didn't set that clock back - and it was only 5:28am.
Plenty of time.
I was now wide awake and I started to think.
I started to think about how I didn't want to get up.
I didn't want to jump in the bath tub.
I didn't want to put on my gym clothes, get in the car and enter the gym.
I didn't want to work out.
I didn't want to.
I started thinking of excuses.
I'm too tired.
I'm worn out.
I'm still sick.
Excuses.
I remember, back in April or May, having a similar morning.
I was arguing with myself in my head, fighting over why I should NOT go to boot camp.
I forced myself.
And after I forced myself, I realized - the most difficult part of going to Boot camp...is getting in the car and driving there.
Once I'm in through the doors...it's just a matter of doing what I'm told.
I am stubborn in many ways, and once I am doing something, I want to finish it.
And I always do.
It was just getting there. That was my struggle. The part where I have to motivate myself to get up. Walk outside. Put my key in the ignition. Park the car. And walk in the gym.
It's a 3 minute car ride away.
THREE minutes.
I looked at the clock.
5:55am.
I struggled again. Dreading it. Not wanting to go.
Part of me was telling myself how great it would feel to roll over and sleep for another hour.
The other part was telling me how great I feel after a workout is complete.
Part of me wanted to sleep. Give in to the bulge in my waist that so desperately wants to be seen and just accept it as my physique.
I've never had a torso that I liked.
It's always been flabbier. Not "fat"...but flabby.
Soft.
The reason I don't take my shirt off at the beach and never have.
Then I thought about how this bothers me. And why it bothers me.
And what I can do to make it stop bothering.
I could only do one thing.
Get up and go.
One day at a time.
Otherwise, why complain? I have no right to complain about my body if I am NOT doing everything in my power to change what I can, right?
And I have the power to do any single thing I want - especially with my own body.
I have the power and the capability, which is more than many have.
And it's something I take for granted. Something I do not utilize.
And what does that make me?
A spoiled fucking brat, I told myself.
I sighed and looked at that fucking alarm clock.
6:03am.
Screw it, I thought to myself.
I got up and got in the bath tub.
I'll go.
It was a kickboxing style class today, something I'd never done.
Fight moves. Go figure.
Fitting, though.
And challenging.
Co-ordination and balance were both involved - two things I'm not exactly stellar at.
But I did it. Because it's what one does when one is at the gym.
I punched. I jabbed. I hooked. I kicked. I kneed. I slammed. I squatted. I thrusted.
Sweat pouring from me.
And just like I knew it would - It felt great.
Sure, I may have looked like the fat boy at recess, unsuccessfully defending himself from his imaginary friend while the others watched with fascination, but it didn't matter, because I was there.
I was there and I was working out - the way I was supposed to.
No excuses.
Just me.
6:30AM.
At the gym.
Throwing punches.
Kicking my own ass.

OH - And winning.
At least today.

dm.