I once had a physical evaluation where the lady said that I needed to stretch for longer periods to get a good-sized gait when I run. I then made the conscious decision to ignore this suggestion and ran like I normally did because, well, it's running. How differently can everyone do it???
...Apparently differently enough. See, when I ran stadiums, I did this thing when I made that turn at the bottom step before I run up the aisle. I'd do this hard brake with my right foot right as I took the first steps up the stadium aisle. Enough repetitions around the stadium and I've pretty much guaranteed myself to be in super pain for the next few days, hereby condemning my body to walk with an awkward limp.
As time has passed, I've gotten better with running; not just with stretching and learning to take advantage of inclines to burn more calories. Nowadays, I know to plan my workouts ahead of time, to know and anticipate what my body needs in terms of rest and hydration and flexibility... and to know when to stop.
That last part is the hardest. I'm a bit of a cardio freak and I might (just might) have some new strain of an eating disorder born out of bingeing and working out so stopping a work out, not pushing my body...it kinda pisses me off. No, really: it genuinely upsets me.
See, I want to be better and faster much more quickly than reality and modern science will allow. Logically, I know it'll take some time before I can tackle a 5k continuously without plopping on the side of the road like a dead rodent, but it doesn't stop me from being utterly frustrated that I can't do it right the first time. I'm impatient like that: impatiently wanting to meet one limit after another and slam a big ass hammer through each one.
... I'm not really talk about physical limits anymore. I'd really like to be better than I already am, mentally and emotionally. I've spewed before on how I understand that my recovery will take time and effort and a healthy dose of waiting. But I feel myself approaching my own mental limitations and it's kinda killing me. It's not so much the lust and the hormones anymore as it is me, sitting in front of a computer every day and going, "What the fuck is the point with all this?"
I mean, I know I started this largely as a gag, for my own personal shits and giggles as the year went by because I honestly hadn't anticipated finding a job or remotely having a life. And now that I have both, I realize that men (and the hot sweaty sex that come with them) aren't really a priority in my life. Even if there were a candidate in my life, I'm not sure any relationship could survive on 3-4 nights a week (if even that since I'd be pretty tired after my workout after work and I'd need at least one night for myself and maybe another night with the girls and lord knows I need to catch up on my TV time...).
I don't know if this is my limit with this little project, or if I'm projecting (teehee) my own frustrations about reaching a dead-end with my semi-romantic life. Fuck it. I've got work in a few hours again...
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