I've fallen off the wagon. The exercise wagon.

My dorm roommate L introduced me to RSF Group Cycling in our freshman year. The first time I went, I hated it--the blasting music, the dimmed room filled with sweaty bodies pedaling away on stationary bikes but going nowhere, the uncomfortable seats that gave wedgies, the debilitating soreness in my quads that persisted through the weekend. We went back to our dorm room drenched in sweat, dehydrated, and various degrees of unhappy.

Why on earth would I choose to return, then?

I actually ended up loving group cycling (also known as "spinning"). Other than the obvious health benefits of exercise, spinning was a discipline thing for me. As I pedaled away on my stationary bike, all of my thoughts were focused on the task in front of me. Raising my cadence, increasing the resistance, climbing that (imaginary) hill. These felt like little victories. And heck, if I could drag my morning-after-IV-Large-Group-socializing self to the 8:30am Saturday spin session, then I could do anything. Well, at least that's what I told myself through all four of my college years. Plus, in freshman year, the intense Saturday cycling workouts kind of negated the indulgent weekend brunches that my floormates and I would enjoy....kinda. We did smuggle quite a few doughnuts out of Crossroads. I seem to be admitting my love for doughnuts quite often on this blog.




That was when I had an RSF membership. I've since defaulted to running to and around the lake near my house to maintain an active lifestyle. After a fairly disciplined summer of learning to appreciate it, I haven't gone running for about three weeks. I blame the DC (Fogtown, USA) weather for my lack of motivation. I blame a tumble I had down the stairs some weeks ago. I blame my recent cold and malaise.


But really, what I'm scared of is resuming my running, and facing the reality that I can't run as far or as fast as I could a couple weeks ago. My mind reels back to how labored my breathing will be with the additional unpleasantries of residual phlegm and sinus blockages. I cringe at the cries of muscles that haven't partaken in strenuous activity for weeks, and the uncomfortable feeling of creaky ankles pounding the pavement. I'm far from training for any marathons, but I dread the inevitability of stopping short of my destination. Even if my destination is a mere 1, 2, or 3 miles away.


And these things are preventing me from lacing up my running shoes. It's a mental thing. But no longer will I be held captive by my thoughts.

I'm off!