When I lived in Hoboken, I didn’t think twice about waking up at 5 am to get in a work out. Working out was a priority for me. I made time for it, regardless of how busy I was with work or social responsibilities.
So while I cursed when my alarm went off at 5 am, it was six degrees and dark because it was January, I still made sure I was at the bus stop in time for the 5:32, which then gave me enough time to get across Manhattan for a 6:30 class.
In addition working out 3-4 times per week, I was diligent about my nutrition since exercise is only one piece of the equation. On Sunday I meal prepped. I ate when I arrived at my office. Then lunch. A snack at 2. Protein shake at 4. Snack when I got home, then dinner.
I think about that version of me and while some may view it as exhausting, I found it empowering. I liked the structure. I liked seeing gains. Lifting heavier weights. Going up a jean size. Feeling strong. Looking strong.
Knowing I could set my mind to something that was purely personal, and then have the discipline to make it happen, was inspiring and invigorating and made me feel more confident in all aspects of my life.
Since moving I’ve lacked that focus and discipline. I desperately miss it.
I’ve made all sorts of excuses, justifications, and rationalizations. But in the moments when I’m really honest with myself I know it’s because I’ve been lazy – and that’s a hard truth to swallow.