Bittersweet Pill

Sprint

You know what I hate? I hate working out. It's no fun at all. It's good AFTER. I like the effects of it. I hate doing it. I'd rather do anything else, including canning. Including reading reviews of highlighters on Amazon. Including talking about Pokemon with a 7 and 8 year old. I simply really don't enjoy working out. And I probably never will.

I'm not even that bad at it. I'm just average. But it's mostly unenjoyable because it's so boring.

Sprint.

I actually prefer doing math problems. Even when I get something muddled in the arithmetic and get a wrong answer and feel totally stupid. I prefer that to this. By a lot.

Some people have exercise as a hobby. It's an enjoyable activity that they relish and look forward to doing. Me? I'm bribing myself with sketching out my grouchy thoughts on my phone as I alternate sprints and walking.

So much of exercise science is so...opaque. I have no idea who to trust. Too many authorities. Exactly like nutrition science.

Sprint.

All through high school I did dance and running. I was average but a bit towards the scale of "better" as a runner.

I was an excellent dancer.

But dancing is about both art and craft. It's not about competition, except with yourself. It's not about technique, at least not entirely. It's really athletic. It's really hard. It's about emotions. It's fun.

Not the most fun, but still.

Sprint.

The most fun? That'd be either sitting or walking somewhere gloriously beautiful and picturesque with a dear friend, talking with (or without) words.

A close second: sitting at a computer, some kind of portal into the minds and thoughts of friends, and carrying out like, five or six simultaneous chats. Or just one, if it's important enough to me.

Sprint.

Really, that was more like a glop. I didn't sprint.

Successfully forcing my body to obey the will of my brain. That's the challenge. It comes with a LOT of self loathing and criticism. That feels horrible. "You suck, Kate." "You should've been able to do that, Kate." I'm so sick of those feelings. They hurt worse than being out of shape.

Not really. But...but almost. And maybe it's true in the moment.

Sprint.

I can quite easily muster up the strength/courage/fortitude/energy to sprint at a project.

This month I intend to finish my first round of edits on "the book." This project that's been looming in the background of my life ever since 2016. It's so... it's just so itchy to be done. Today I reached the halfway mark of my edits, perhaps even surpassed it. I'm excited to be done. I need to finish before May because...

Sprint.

... Because once my kids are done with school, sionara free time. It will be rush here, rush there, pool time, GRE study time, taking care of kids time - perhaps I'll be able to manage some Czech learning time somewhere in there?

Sigh. I still am putting off deciding how to manage that. I don't know how to do it, so I just procrastinate. This is a fairly tried and true strategy from my toolbox. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it's even the right choice. I'm not sure if such is the case right now. We will see.

Sprint.

Just two more sprints to go. Surely I can manage that.

I'm very anxious about grad school. I wonder how the prerequisites work. How strict are they? And how will I manage to finish this program in four years - double the time of a normal degree - while taking care of five children? What will I sacrifice? What will I need to cut? Or is that inevitable? Can I simply move on to the next set of projects? If I get bored, the stakes are much higher.

Sprint.

Shin splints? That's so unfair. Ugh.

I bought the textbook for sociolinguistics. I think it is likely to be one of the earlier courses I take. It's required. The textbook has the words "digital Englishes" in it. How strange and interesting.

I won't be able to read ahead for the subsequent classes. At least not much.

I wish I had taken a stats class. I never took a single solitary college level math class. I don't even know how they are taught.

Jog.

That was the last lap.

I have to work out and a mere walk doesn't cut it. For about two weeks I've failed to get an almost daily dose of sweat. In the past week I've noticed my hands inadvertently shaking. It's not random. It's when I'm worried about something. When I'm thinking a lot about my plans for the future, sometimes not even the far distant future. Just "what are the things that need to get done this week, today, next?" I find myself shaking and very tense. I've noticed (and this is definitely TMI) constipation and racing thoughts. Basically, all the typical hallmarks of how I experience anxiety.

Exercise is a preventative drug.

A bitter pill to swallow.

A time sucking bitter pill.

But it's worth it, especially now that my endorphins are catching up. Ahh. Feels nice. Don't smell me, though.