Peace of Me

I am trying to run a 5K. It’s a small goal. But, as I like to say, low expectations = high results;  high expectations = low results. (I might have made that up.)

I like to write down this goal, because some Harvard study says CEOs who write down their goals are more likely to achieve them. (I like to throw in Harvard studies on this blog to show that I am erudite.)

Let’s face it, a 5K is doable. I will never run a marathon. I will never win, place or show in any major sporting event. I just hope to occasionally beat my kids – or simply, keep up with them — at tennis, swimming, and dancing.

Living an athletic life is not that hard. My biggest hurdle is something within me that says I am being selfish if I pursue physical activity simply for my own well being. How can I go for a run when I should unload the dishwasher or declutter the top of my dresser?  

It seems to me there is always something better or more family-centered or more productive to do than work out. 

You don’t actually need much to do sports. Running requires a pair of shoes (and for me, a really good sports bra). Tennis requires a racket, balls and an opponent. Swimming? A suit and a body of water.  

But the thing I need for any sport is gumption or stick-to-it-ive-ness. I need the ability to leap over my Mental Block (my MB). MB is standing by the front door, tapping her toe, barring me from my exit. She looks like the SuperNanny. She says, “Stay home and do housework. Who do you think you are? You’re not all that. You can’t even run a 5K.”

And this is when I have to slip on my headphones, tune my Pandora to Britney, baby, and slip on past my pissed-off SuperEgo. Tune my SuperEgo out. Turn my Inner Britney up.

Britney sings, “You want a piece of me?” And it’s really a good song to run to. Because it feels so right. Everyone wants a piece of me and if I don’t run or work out on a regular basis, I will have no piece to give them. I will get crabby. Then they’ll get a piece of me all right. And it won’t be cute or funny.

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