quitting 101

Commitment versus interest.

Every morning, I sweat, swear and ungracefully hobble my way through a hybrid boot camp/self defense class. My legs are so fatigued after that I have to crawl up the last flight of stairs to reach my door (I live on the third floor).

I’ve signed up for a number of these fitness challenges in the past, given them a half-assed attempt and have unceremoniously given up, never to mention them again.

“I’m just not the type of person who follows through on things…”

“I’ll start next Monday.”

“I’m just not ready to do this.”

The excuses pile up and glare back at me when I’m brave enough to take a peek.

But this time, as I pound the punching bag until my knuckles are bruised and my hands can’t take it anymore…this time feels different.

I’m no longer just interested; I am committed.

And each time I put that Hello Kitty sticker on the challenge leaderboard next to my name, pressing it firmly against the white poster board with my fingertips as the sweat rolls down my arms and renders the sticker useless so I have to grab a crappy generic happy face sticker instead, my confidence grows.

I will figure things out on my own terms; I will create the life I’ve always known I’ve wanted to live.

Current status: eyeing my foam roller cautiously / reading the Art of Fielding…again / thinking bok Choy is underappreciated

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