Some Nighttime Angst

This morning I picked up with Week 4 of the Couch to 5K , after more than a month of inactivity. After reading about some of the pre-dawn running exploits of other bloggers, I decided that I too am capable of running in the dark.

Apparently, this was a monumental decision as I tossed and turned all night with anxiety. I don't think that reaction had much to do with any significant fear of dogs or strangers, but more so with a struggle over questions of my own motivation and my emotional resistance to any kind of change.

First, motivation: I have a history of saying "yes" to things when I really mean "no." So much so that I am often confused about my own actual desires. I often do things based on what I "should" do or influenced by what I perceived to be others' expectations. For example, signing up for committees at work, joining the neighborhood gardening club, joining the local singles outdoor club, attending church.

I also continue to do things long after the enjoyment is gone. For example, my dance group. I probably should have quit two years ago but I had a horrible time giving myself permission to do so and instead rationalized away my own dissatisfaction with the group.

I've come to the realization that I'm somewhat of a dilettante in many aspects of my life, that I'm destined to be mediocre in lots of different areas -- I'll take up crocheting or knitting or decoupage for the length of one project and never do it again. I'll take up ballroom dancing, or conga drumming, or kayaking or block walking for the local historical society for the span of one summer or one year or two and then lose interest.

And I always feel massively guilty when this happens -- I beat myself up for quitting. I think, "If only I had more discipline, if only I were a better person, I wouldn't lose interest and quit." I think that somewhere along the line in the narrow corridors of my very literal mind I believe that once I commit to an activity or a skill that I am now bound to continue it for life. And when that doesn't happen, when I finally move on, I feel like a monumental failure. A scatter-brained quitter.

So sometimes I do things because I want to, but then feel bad when I quit, and other times I do things that I don't want to do because they are things I "should" do if I were the best version of myself. It boils down to a basic inability to follow my own gut instincts.

So I think all that tossing and turning last night was because I was fearful that if I start a jogging program that I will now have to run for the rest of my life and, what's more, be perfect at it and really, really love it. And if I hate it, well then, I've disappointed the miserable little catty audience that lives in my brain. So wouldn't it just be better to give up before I even start?

Second, emotional resistance to change: If I make this one change in my life, if I make a daily commitment to act differently in terms of my eating and exercising habits, then the floodgates will open and all hell will break lose. At least, that's what my fearful little brain whispers in the middle of the night. If I break new ground and change certain habits then… then … then … I'll quit my job! I'll go wild and move to Mexico like I sorta think I want to! I'll get angry at my dad and tell him off! The world will forsake me because I'm too pushy and self-centered and completely irresponsible!

Ok. So these are the things a little jogging brings forth to my mind.

The jog itself was fine. There was a thrilling little chill in the air. Autumn! I passed the juniper by the Montessori school and breathed in the scent, one of my favorites. I jogged 3 minutes, walked 90 seconds, jogged 5 minutes, walked 2.5 minutes, twice in about 20 minutes. There was only one stray dog and just a few people walking to bus stops. They all nodded at me in a friendly way. I survived, and no chasms opened at my feet.

Tomorrow: a pictorial review of today's meals. The digicam has been unleashed!