My Weakness, My Worst Friend

20 minutes on the treadmill, a simulated 2 miles covered in that time. Not great, but at least I’m getting in there and fighting the downward spiral back to butterball country. I’ve been holding at about 80 kilos for a while now, but that number is deceiving because I’ve been gaining fat and losing muscle pretty steadily for about a year and a half now. I don’t have the strength or vitality I did even a year ago and I’m visibly fatter than I was six months ago.

Part of what’s going on with me is complacency. I’ve had some attention from the opposite sex on occasion in the last half year, and I’m also well-disabused of the notion that I need to be with a woman to be complete. So why not just let myself go to the dogs?

For one thing, it’s not just a matter of vanity. If I am going to continue to consume the oxygen we all need and take the nutrients from other living beings, I should be useful. To be useful, I need to be strong and disciplined–in the best sense of the word, not like a beaten dog.

I guess I’m looking for integrity. There is a tremendous gap between my intentons and ideals and my actions and outcomes. I’m not good at making commitments and I often avoid making any to pre-empt any chance of flaking. The problem is that I’m getting very skilled at not doing anything and I’m getting away with it. This is not a recipie for being the sort of person I’d like to believe I am or can be.