I am lazy. There, I said it. I have always tried to lie to myself, telling myself I'm not lazy I'm just doing what I want, when and how I want. Empowering myself by making all my own decisions regardless of outside pressures. Recently though, I've stopped buying my own bullshit and have forced myself to own up to it. Don't they always say that admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery? Well I am admitting it. Shouting it from the rooftops (silently in my head).
I am lazy.
This doesn't bode well for my running plan. Especially since the last fond memory I have of running was when I was ten and I was racing a classmate's little sister across the playground. I was sooo much faster than her (obviously. I was ten and she was six) but I still let her win. Since then all my running has been either enforced PE running around a 200 metre track in the baking Italian summer heat (I grew up in Italy and did all my schooling there) or half-hearted guilt-motivated runs on a treadmill in a gym. This cocktail of unpleasant memories coupled with my general slothfulness means that on paper I should really not be excited about the upcoming miles I plan on running. And yet, I'm excited.
I'm excited because this morning it finally clicked in my head. I've never gone running for myself. It was always either because I had to or because I felt I had to. This time I set the goal. I chose it. And every time I find myself battling my laziness and struggling to get on with it I will think back to ten year old me running full pelt across that playground, not a care in the world, and I'll let it carry me forward.
Now all I have to do is get up off this couch...