I went to war this morning.
It was an epic battle, waged before the sun had even peeked a single ray over the horizon. It churned, a tumultuous tug-of-war, as good versus evil fought to overcome one another. And all of this happened within the snarling recesses of my own psyche.
The battle began at 5:30am, when my cursed alarm burst forth its siren, announcing it was time for me to rise. It was a silent struggle, as the rest of my house peacefully slept; it screamed inside my brain, bouncing through my head like a whirlwind.
Ironically enough today was National Running Day, and yet I was jolted awake with no desire whatsoever to go out and run.
Despite this dread, I initially rose from my bed, and proceeded to stand in a groggy stupor (similar to how I’d imagine a zombie would stand when idle, with no human prey to chase), allowing my brain to shout it’s protests at me in rapid succession.
“It’s way too early and you are way too tired!”
“You’ve gotten a few great workouts in this week already; you can skip today, go back to bed!”
“You’re getting burned out, if you don’t take today off you’ll completely lose your motivation!”
These are just a few of the dreadfully evil things that my brain slyly chanted, enticing me back to the comfort of my bed. And I have to admit, for a moment, it worked. I did crawl back in bed! Sighing with pleasure at the warmth and comfort of my mattress sucking me back in. I quickly reset my alarm and rolled over, prepared to drift back into a glorious slumber. But quietly, ever so quietly, my brain began its barrage yet again, assaulting my reasoning, refusing to allow me the sleep I so desired.
I guess I can best describe this as the “Spartan” portion of my brain, fighting back once it realized I had laid back down. It instantly began shouting at me, an inner drill sergeant berating my decision to rest. I couldn’t get back to sleep, all I could think about was how disappointed I would be with myself if I actually did go back to sleep, and how good I’d feel once I actually got out the door. After a few minutes of internal debate, the Spartan won with a determined cry of “STFU” (that’s “Spartan The F*** Up” for those of you new to the phrase), and once again I rose, proceeding forth to take on the day.
Later that morning, as the sun was beginning to cast beautiful orange shadows on the low slung clouds, I returned from a satisfying strength training session at my gym, victorious. Good had won, evil had been squashed, I hadn’t taken the easy way out, I hadn’t gone back to bed. The battle was over, and I had recovered from an intense mental onslaught, triumphant.
This battle is real, and I know many people let their mind talk them into staying in bed, accepting the easier option, and never truly discovering the joy that choosing fitness over comfort can bring. Don’t be that person, let the Spartan in you win, you’ll be glad you did. I promise.