“I really should go for a run this afternoon.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You haven’t gotten any sleep this week. You’re exhausted.”
“But it’s Thursday and I haven’t run since Monday and I didn’t exercise the last two days. I need to do something. Who needs rest and recovery for runners?”
“Look at you! You can barely keep your eyes open! Why push yourself when your tank is a tenth full? You’re just going to have a bad run or hurt yourself.”
“I know. I should rest…Or I just do a really short, quick run.”
Welcome to the conversation in my head. It’s like watching a tennis match. No, more like a ping pong match, the little plastic ball bouncing across the net to each side of the table so fast that it’s hard to keep track of where it is.
This particular conversation took place on Thursday afternoon. I felt this pull – this guilt – that I should go and workout. Because if I didn’t, who knew what would happen to my fitness level and my belly? One would plummet to zero and the other would expand infinitely, right? I would immediately turn into a sloth. At least those are the thoughts that underlay my internal debate.