Of treadmills and stupid skinny bitches
Today, I ran to the gym to run on the treadmill and run home because I go to college in Portland and my lungs really dislike running in the cold rain. My foolproof cardio playlist is blasting in my ears when I strut into the gym and onto the available treadmill, and so far, I'm feeling proud how well I'm doing. I reach my cruising speed, my speed at which I can comfortably go for quite some time. After a while my breathing is more labored, the vicious mirror shows me my tomato of a face, and at this fateful moment of weakness, I looked over at my neighbor's treadmill.
It's the worst way I torture myself, but we all do it, right?
Anyway, she's this tiny little athlete, not an ounce of fat on her. I suddenly become painfully aware of how much bigger I am than she is. (Not a whole lot, but still.) She's playing with her hair, checking twitter, and breathing normally at 1.5 mph faster than me!
Well, now I'm just the tiniest bit upset. Here I am, working my ass off, red in the face, and she can just glide along like she's making her coffee in the morning!
Usually my thought process is about being good at something, maybe even better at something, but today it hit me: she might be going faster, and she might be skinnier, but she's not working like I'm working. She's not growing like I'm growing.
I've never taken pride in the suffering before: It's easy to take pride in results, and you tough it out when you drag yourself to the gym... but for the first time in my admittedly young life, I was struggling and proud of it.
So I pumped up my speed a couple notches (for my growth, not my competitive side) and ran the difficult way home.
The power's in the work!
It's the worst way I torture myself, but we all do it, right?
Anyway, she's this tiny little athlete, not an ounce of fat on her. I suddenly become painfully aware of how much bigger I am than she is. (Not a whole lot, but still.) She's playing with her hair, checking twitter, and breathing normally at 1.5 mph faster than me!
Well, now I'm just the tiniest bit upset. Here I am, working my ass off, red in the face, and she can just glide along like she's making her coffee in the morning!
Usually my thought process is about being good at something, maybe even better at something, but today it hit me: she might be going faster, and she might be skinnier, but she's not working like I'm working. She's not growing like I'm growing.
I've never taken pride in the suffering before: It's easy to take pride in results, and you tough it out when you drag yourself to the gym... but for the first time in my admittedly young life, I was struggling and proud of it.
So I pumped up my speed a couple notches (for my growth, not my competitive side) and ran the difficult way home.
The power's in the work!