But then there's my conscience. She's sleek and fit. She looks like this
She talks a good game about how much better I'll feel after a run; how it only takes a few runs to get into the swing of exercising; how attainable a perfect body is. She's obnoxious.
Then my running self looks like this
and feels like this.
And she's pretty persuasive too. She reminds me that there are chocolate chips in the pantry, and that I didn't skimp and get the off-brand this time. There are real Nestle's in there.
All 26 minutes of my run, my Monster running self bargains with my Aeon Flux alter ego conscience. Runner says "Ok, at this corner *huff, huff* I get to take *dry heave* a breather" and Conscience silkily reasons, "You know you've only been on a decline since you started running 95 seconds ago." They have some friendly banter while my legs carry my body reluctantly and spasmodically forward until we all reach
The Greatest Hill That Ever Was
sometimes referred to as
The Cliffs of Insanity
In reality it only takes 62 Mississippis (or 62 "one-thousands", whichever your counting preference is. Or do you not count like you're in 2nd grade anymore?) to reach the crest of The Greatest Hill That Ever Was. But it might as well be 600 Mississippis, and Alabamas for good measure. Because by the top of it my running self swears to....my running self that she'll never put her through that again. And the only way I get through the 1/4 mile that remains after the G.H.T.E.W. is to promise Running Self chocolate chips and to ignore sleek Conscience's snide remarks.
Thus the reason "exercise" leaves my body in stasis.