How To Motivate Yourself To Exercise.

When I first started doing exercise, I found it quite hard to motivate myself so I bought an ambitious amount of sportswear in the hope that wearing it would help me get into the mind-set of an athlete.

I reasoned that, if I looked like an athlete, I could delude my body into thinking it was capable of performing impressive feats of strength and endurance.

Once I started exercising, I was able to maintain this illusion of supreme athleticism for a short amount of time.

However, it soon became clear that I wasn’t an elite athlete and was, in fact, just a regular bog-standard unfit person.

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Before exercising, I would perform elaborate warm-up routines in preparation for what I assumed would be a high intensity workout.

Warm up stretches are a useful way to prepare your body for exercise.

However, they are considerably less useful when they are used to actively avoid doing exercise in the first place.

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Eventually, I decided that I needed to be more disciplined in my approach to exercise so I drew up a plan that detailed exactly how I was going to spend each workout to ensure that I spent less time stretching and more time actually exercising.

I thought that if I could stick to my workout plan, I would eventually fall into a routine and motivating myself to do exercise wouldn’t be such a struggle.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until my workouts started to deviate slightly from the routines that I had originally set out for myself.

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At one point, I also tried going to exercise classes in the hope that the group camaraderie would help drag me through the workout.

The concept of the exercise class has been around since Mulan times (very historically accurate…) in which the renowned military personal trainer Li Shang whipped his recruits into shape to the tune of the song ‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’

‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’ is a highly motivational song that makes getting fit feel like a heroic mission.

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However, the message relayed to participants in fitness boot camps nowadays tend to be slightly less stirring and dramatic .

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At the end of the day, there is only one thing that will truly encourage me to exercise.

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In theory, healthy exercise cancels out unhealthy cake consumption and everything balances out at a vaguely acceptable level of healthiness (this is a very scientifically accurate statement that I tell myself so that I can eat cake without feeling too guilty…)

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I’m Moderately Slow and Relatively Steady – So How Come I Haven’t Won Any Races Yet?

Running is my perverse addiction.

I don’t know why I am addicted to running.

I’ve always had a somewhat addictive personality, something that established itself in childhood when I became addicted to the Sims 2 and, more severely, marshmallow flumps.

At its worst, I would play the Sims 2 for up to 6 hours straight.

During that time, I would have consumed up to twenty-five flumps.

I realised that my addiction was taking a downward, destructive spiral when I stopped visiting the ‘Create a Family’ room and started removing doors from walls and ladders from pool sides instead.

I sensed that having near complete control over the lives of others was getting to me.

I was becoming sick with power.

I was losing sight of the person that I had been and was turning into a brainwashed flump-guzzling monster.flump guzzler

As a result, I made a concerted effort to quit.

All things considered, maybe I am so addicted to running because partaking in regular cardiovascular exercise means that I can afford to eat as many flumps as I want without getting fat.

I have also considered the possibility that my addiction stems from the fact that sustaining running-related injuries such as Achilles Tendonitis, Plantar Fasciitis and hurty toes makes me feel badass.

I tend to get injured quite a bit when partaking in any form of physical activity.

I think this might be because I have the spatial awareness of a bulldozer.

When I am walking and happen to encounter an immovable object, my mind cognates that the obstruction is there but my body does not move to accommodate it.

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When I am running and moving at (a marginally faster) speed, I often don’t even have time to acknowledge the presence of an obstruction.

A couple of months ago, I sustained my most significant running injury to date.

I was running through my local woods when my foot caught on a tree root.

The sudden introduction of an opposing force to my previously established momentum meant that I was thrust violently forwards.

My arms chose this exact moment to bypass any semblance of an autonomic reflex response.

They remained pinned to my side as the rest of my body dove liberally through the air.

The result?

In the Black Mountains of the Nebraska region, the harsh weather conditions and heavy snowfall of the winter season mean that the red fox is forced to adopt a unique hunting technique in order to access its prey.

I have included a GIF of this hunting method as I feel that it accurately captures both the motion of my body in the moments after I tripped, along with the point of impact upon the fall’s completion.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2SoGHFM18I
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2SoGHFM18I

After the initial shock of having punched the ground with my face had subsided, I reached upwards to assess the damage.

However, before my fingers could make contact with my facial skin, I felt a drop of liquid fall into my hands.

Panic-stricken and still somewhat shaken, I had the following series of thoughts:

oh my god

im bleedingbleeding

cutwoundedbroken

fallen off

what will i look like

voldemortagghhhwhere's my nose

must find

surgeonbs

I started to scrabble around frantically on the floor, searching for my disembodied nasal passages.

Turns out that my nose was still on my face.

The drop that had fallen onto my hand was not blood but was instead a clear liquid.

Not that I was crying.

A drop of water had simply fallen on to my hand.

Yes, it may have fallen from my eye.

And yes, it may have been slightly salty.

Okay, so drop of salty water had fallen onto my hand directly from my tear duct.

But I wasn’t crying…

I don’t really know how to end this post so I’ve decided to finish on a quick moral that I will be following for the remainder of my life.

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sometimes there are roots