I haven't been sleeping well lately. Between a bout of seasonal allergies (which I apparently developed in the last two years) and random emotional situations, my average bed time has been 2am so far this week. Last week I was hitting bedtime at 1am due to a deadline for some work I'm doing. I guess technically that's close to 7 hours a night, but I feel completely drained.
This weekend I am attending my cousins wedding, which, as the invitation states, is "black tie optional"...so dresses are mandatory. I do not own many dresses, and none that fit/are fancy enough for "black tie optional." So yesterday I did something that most women profess to love, which is to me an exercise is pain, frustration, and humiliation. I went dress shopping.
This was the preamble for my going to the gym yesterday. I was tired, nay exhausted, a touch stressed, and very not in love with my body.
I ran, even though I felt like a lumbering behemoth. I ran, even though I was sure my running shirt was too tight and was showing the world every bulge I try to hide. I ran, even though every minute I wanted to get off the treadmill and go home. I didn't run particularly fast, or for an amazing amount of time or distance. I ran at a steady 5.2 mph for 20 minutes. (With a five minute warm up and five minute cool down that don't count because I wasn't running.)
I wussed out on the strength portion of my work out, I did ab work but nothing else. I was just too tired. But I ran. I ran yesterday and I'm planning on running today (I do have to wear that dress Saturday after all.)
I may not be completely back on track with this whole fitness thing, but I ran. And I'm holding on to that.