So Close, And Yet So Far (#SCSF)
I've often heard about people talk about failure as a big challenge. For me, the biggest challenge has never been failure. I'll pick myself up from the dirt every time, a testament to my father's teachings.
He'd yell, "¡Ya! Levantate. ¡Ya no llores! Will crying help you right now?" after I got knocked down by things like a rogue baseball. If I sniffled too long, my father would tease for a smile by singing the first verse of the piñata song as motivation. Now, there is pleasure in the pain of wiping away the grime of embarrassment and tackling issues anew.
No, the biggest challenge has always been "the almost there" period of a journey. I'm the kind of person who exclaims, "Why aren't we there yet," to myself in an empty car, with mere 30 minutes before arrival. Prime Amazon deliveries are torture. Barbers would see me swivel around in their chairs every two weeks due to maintenance anxiety.
So when I'm staring at myself in the mirror, knowing my consistent workout schedule, knowing I'm religiously counting calories and eating healthy foods, and knowing I'm nearer to my goals than I've ever been before -- I still feel a pang of self-disgust. Because I'm not there yet.
I've been growing out my hair since March with the ultimate goal of "yoga girl messy bun". My formerly Mohawk-shaved sides bloomed six inches of hair. I still dislike it's current state. I won't repeat what I've muttered to my curls, even as I've conditioned them religiously every morning and night.
In transitioning to a healthy, consistent meal plan and loftier running goals, I am awed by the body's capabilities. But I'm also upset that I'm not getting stronger and building more endurance by the minute.
I recently ran the LSU Lakes around 9:40 a.m. after working out mainly indoors due to scheduling restrictions. My throat started closing up around the 2.5 mile mark, and I was forced to stop and sit with ducks to catch my breath at 3 miles. Quite humiliating after slaying 10 miles at desired time without issues.
Frustration from situations like these leads to a cycle:
It is my job to remind myself that this is not a sprint, it's a marathon (duh, Lluvs). I put in the work. I take the necessary breaks. I am kind to myself. And repeat.
I've started positive emotional habits by setting weekly alerts to remind myself to trust the process, identify and control negative thoughts, and be a better cheerleader to myself.
In the immortal words of my father, the piñata song, and Pitbull: dale, dale, dale.
He'd yell, "¡Ya! Levantate. ¡Ya no llores! Will crying help you right now?" after I got knocked down by things like a rogue baseball. If I sniffled too long, my father would tease for a smile by singing the first verse of the piñata song as motivation. Now, there is pleasure in the pain of wiping away the grime of embarrassment and tackling issues anew.
No, the biggest challenge has always been "the almost there" period of a journey. I'm the kind of person who exclaims, "Why aren't we there yet," to myself in an empty car, with mere 30 minutes before arrival. Prime Amazon deliveries are torture. Barbers would see me swivel around in their chairs every two weeks due to maintenance anxiety.
So when I'm staring at myself in the mirror, knowing my consistent workout schedule, knowing I'm religiously counting calories and eating healthy foods, and knowing I'm nearer to my goals than I've ever been before -- I still feel a pang of self-disgust. Because I'm not there yet.
I've been growing out my hair since March with the ultimate goal of "yoga girl messy bun". My formerly Mohawk-shaved sides bloomed six inches of hair. I still dislike it's current state. I won't repeat what I've muttered to my curls, even as I've conditioned them religiously every morning and night.
In transitioning to a healthy, consistent meal plan and loftier running goals, I am awed by the body's capabilities. But I'm also upset that I'm not getting stronger and building more endurance by the minute.
I recently ran the LSU Lakes around 9:40 a.m. after working out mainly indoors due to scheduling restrictions. My throat started closing up around the 2.5 mile mark, and I was forced to stop and sit with ducks to catch my breath at 3 miles. Quite humiliating after slaying 10 miles at desired time without issues.
Frustration from situations like these leads to a cycle:
- Disappointment over not immediately achieving long-term goal
- Temptation to sabotage a scheduled workout/task
- Guilty feelings
- Circle back to getting depressed about #SCSF
- Blame
- Unhappy self-perception/workout
It is my job to remind myself that this is not a sprint, it's a marathon (duh, Lluvs). I put in the work. I take the necessary breaks. I am kind to myself. And repeat.
I've started positive emotional habits by setting weekly alerts to remind myself to trust the process, identify and control negative thoughts, and be a better cheerleader to myself.
In the immortal words of my father, the piñata song, and Pitbull: dale, dale, dale.
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