This week saw me resisting my daily exercise strictures. Melbourne was dismal and I prioritised work over fitness. I know, I know, the whole idea of the Big Year is that I inculcate a habit of everyday jogging, cycling, or gym, but the habit is not ingrained yet (will it ever be), so I missed a day, grumbled to the gym, grumbled again to the gym, and missed a day. By the end of Day 4, my Thursday, I had precious little to show over the half week.
Instead of clocking in to a habit, what ended up working was shame. I might not be fulfilling the Big Year, but it was in my mind, and over four days, a sense of regret filled me. So on Friday, unable to stand the ignominy any longer, I woke early and jogged in the dark, 5 kms through my streets. I didn’t feel cold at all, my lungs filled with air, and my pace of 6:35 brought a smile to my face.
Days 6 and 7? I cycled, not quite my weekly target, but hey, I tell myself, I managed five of the seven days during an off week. Not too shabby, I tell myself.