5:55 am to 6:40 am
Outdoor, 68 light rain
No hurry. No pause.
45 minutes of consecutive walking/jogging intervals including 60 step-ups (30 each leg), 50 calf raises
The step-ups were brutal. I did them after walking/jogging for 25 minutes. My plan was to do 20 each leg. I muscled out 30 each leg.
What are we willing to sacrifice in order to improve?
This is one the first questions we must entertain before we seek improvement. For improvement comes with costs. Most of which aren’t worth anything yet when we seek change, those costs, which are more than likely arbitrary excuses, become massive roadblocks.
Personally, I didn’t want to sacrifice sleep in order to train. Greedily, I wanted to train but I wanted the luxury of sleeping in. Yet the early morning training session best fit my personal and work schedule. I didn’t think I could wake at 45 minutes earlier on a work day and train. And I didn’t think I packed my will power to awake at 5:30 on my vacation and train.
I was wrong. At home, on vacation–I really enjoy the early morning. I enjoy the quiet house before I leave it. I enjoy the quiet street and the feeling that I am the only person, in the whole world, awake and alive. I enjoy the discipline. I enjoy knowing that empowerment can only be experienced through sacrifice
Quote I’m Thinking About Today:
“The door’s open but the ride ain’t free.” ~ Bruce Springsteen, “Thunder Road”
From Yesterday’s Training Session
“He’s a writer again. His words walk a tightrope of transparency and vulnerability while attempting to maintain a masculine balance. He writes to entertain. He writes to discover truth. He writes to feel strong. He writes to fill the hole in his brain with imagination instead of hopelessness and resentment. He writes secrets he can’t tell his wife. He writes to make his father proud. He writes in case he dies young. He writes so his voice may one day comfort his children when they’re older and far from home. He writes for Ms. Baker/ Mrs. Cleary. For Fire Hydrant. For himself. Because twenty four years ago he gave up on a dream. He let an opinion dry his pen, quiet his voice. When he was a boy he let the critic win.”