#my preferred morning exercise is that hour to/from with my pile of podcasts

[jlf23tumble]

So im in a book group through my library called celebri-tea (we bring a mug and discuss the tea from celeb memoirs over tea - its fabulous) and we just read Garcelles last month. What a life! Its a super quick audio book, have you read it? I dont watch rhobh and went in blind and omg the rise she had was so interesting

Omg, I love this ask, what a fun name/idea! No, I haven't read her book yet, but I did listen to one of my fave book podcasts cover it, link here. That said, Garcelle is THE reason to even bother with RHOBH, and the aftershow with her, Sutton, and Jennifer Tilly is even better, I promise!

[over-particular]

productive days, a very personal morning checklist

ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ → It takes an average of 66 days to create or change a habit. Don’t give up now!

☐ Wake up at a predetermined time. Set your alarm clock early if you're the type of person who might feel the need to linger in bed for a while before getting up. If possible, get an alarm clock that is not your phone.

☐ Open the curtains and, if possible, air the room for a while, without making the bed yet. According to a study published in 2006 in the journal Experimental and Applied Acarology, making your bed actually creates a comfortable refuge for mites. Researchers at Kingston University's Centre for Immunology in England concluded that putting back the sheets or comforter as soon as you wake up creates an ideal environment for mites to grow. Air the room for a while.

☐ Stay hydrated. Drink water.

☐ If possible, avoid screen time until the end of the list. My mornings allow me to escape social media, messages and demands from work, friends and family. It's a privileged moment in which I avoid any unnecessary anxiety or negative thoughts.

☐ Exercise your mind, your faith, your creativity for a few minutes. For some, it is a combination of meditation and affirmations. As for me, I pray for a moment or two. I also sometimes write a few lines in my journal, although I much prefer to reserve this moment for my evenings. This is the time to get inspired: listen to your favorite podcast, read a little. (Don't start reading new books until you've finished the current one, even if the book is pretty boring.)

☐ Prepare your bag for the day. This is the time to pack your lunch box, your notebooks, your computer for work and all the necessary chargers... I never do it the night before.

☐ Be physically active for at least 30 minutes. If possible, an hour or two. Run, go for a quick walk, stretch, do yoga, use the equipment in your apartment or go to the gym. 

☐ Wash yourself. Everyone has a different approach to it, depending on their resources and organization. Wash up or take a shower or a bath, brush your teeth and floss and if you have one, do your skin care routine.

☐ Get ready for the day. Get dressed and comb your hair even if you don't plan on going out for the day. As someone who has suffered from mental health issues that have kept me in bed for days, getting ready in the morning subconsciously pushes me to offer myself a picture of me ready to face the day. Often, it also encourages me to go out... 

☐ Have a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, a glass of warm water. Try to eat before ingesting any form of caffeine. If possible, eat a full breakfast or a fruit, but never go out on an empty stomach. Again, try to stay hydrated and drink water.

☐ Finish by making your bed. While the study referenced above does not advocate doing this, I find that the discipline and rigor involved in recreating a physically "neutral" environment allows my mind to unburden itself. For the sake of productivity, I suppose. For the same reasons, if possible, never leave your stuff lying around in your room (like letting it pile up on a chair or desk).

☐ Start your day, outside the walls of your precious home. 

I have a sort of unhealthy obsession with checklists and their elaboration. They help me develop my sense of order and allow me to envision a kind of stability in their recurrence. I kind of get to appreciate my sense of discipline. I would also like to add that this list is intended to be personal. I made it for myself in the hope that sharing it might inspire others. I am therefore fully aware that it cannot necessarily be applied to a profile different from mine. Feel free to rewrite it, make it your own!

[tnerb90]

Day 2: Aug 16, 2019

It's about 10:50am here in Central Florida. So awaiting those lovely last 10 minutes before I can break my fast. This morning went pretty well all things considered. Had my usual coffee with cream and splenda in the morning and sipped on water through the morning.

I think a great thing about limiting that eating window is that it makes me prefer to be busy while I'm not eating to kill time. I'm so used to the habit of watching TV or a movie while eating something, or even just chilling for an hour drinking my coffee and eating breakfast. But this morning I woke up pretty hungry again and had the urge to eat. So in order to kill time until 11, I decided to clean the house and kitchen, fold our huge pile of laundry dating back 2-3 cycles, do the leftover dishes etc. It actually feels super nice having the house clean. However, when I checked the clock, it was only about 10am. I figured, maybe I'll go for a jog (not that it sounded like a good idea at the time, but I DO want to workout more and get into shape for when I try out for hockey). So I didn't really have an excuse not to.

I follow the couch-to- 5k program when I jog. About 3-4 years ago, I actually was able to finish the program and have participated in a few 5k's. As a kid/teen I fucking hated running but I got to the point where I actually really enjoy it. I just put some music on or listen to a podcast while I'm running, which makes it go by way quicker and it's a really nice way of slowing down my thoughts, breathing in and out, and getting some time outdoors.

Now, having said that... today's jog fucking sucked. I did week 1 of couch to 5k, which is basically alternating between jogging 1 min and walking 1m 30s... so it really shouldn't even be that hard even for someone out of shape. I guess that's why it's called "couch" to 5k. You're literally supposed to be able to complete that run as an out of shape couch potato. And usually I do. Usually I see it as a nice warm up for the more challenging weeks to come. But today it was such a hassel which is sad. I think a few reasons went into it:

First and foremost, I'm a lazy fuck who hasn't exercised enough in quite some time. Let's get that out of the way. It's my fault I'm 310lbs now and stopped exercising completely. That's on me.

Ok, next of all: I live in Central Florida. It's mid-August. So for fucks sake... it's hot out. Mid 80's here (which all things considered isn't that bad for summer morning in Florida) but 75% humidity was a bitch and a half. So there's that.

Also, of course the easiest excuse is the fasting thing. I haven't eaten in roughly 15 hours so my body was pretty depleted of energy to begin with. Also my hamstring, knees, hips, and feet got sore pretty quickly. I wonder if part of that is dehydration? I should probably stop "sipping" and start really going all in on H2O while I'm fasting. So there's that.

I think in the future, I need to eat before I run. So maybe push the jogging back into the eating window. So I can have a snack and not be a total zombie. Then I'll also be able to re-fuel afterwards with a snack too. My thinking today was just to kill time until 11am and be able to eat after the run. So we'll have to make an adjustment there. Ok it's 11:07am right now, so I'm out of here. Gonna go grab some Pollo Tropical. That's pretty healthy for fast food yeah? We'll see... Ok thanks for reading, nobody. Catch you never.

Great,

BMW

Oh...PS: I don't think I ever mentioned weigh-in logistics. I'm going to weigh myself once a week. I'd prefer not to do it on Thursdays like yesterday for some reason? It just feels odd. So I might weigh myself sometime next weekend instead and make it a once-per-week thing from there. Let's be real though, I'll weigh myself on Thursday anyway just to see. I'll keep you posted.

[itinerantscribe-blog]

Day 4 of 56

I had white bread for breakfast today. I don’t even care. I fancied a German breakfast. I call it a German breakfast but I have no idea if this is typical or specific to a German diet. I’ve just always called it such since the days of my footloose and fancy free travelling. I was young then, earning well, spending more than I was earning mind you, no rules, no sense of responsible living. Ha! Responsible living? Whatever that is. I met a whole bunch of German folk, my age, when I was living in Rome. Even started an affair with one of them. I say affair, it was just sex on the hoof. But after I left Roman climes for English shores, I maintained contact with these beer swilling, fun loving individuals hailing from Dusseldorf. They used to invite me to their Saturday night parties which I would invariably attend, heading off to the airport Friday night, indifferent to the dimensions of the airport terminal, no difficulty with the landscape that has come to sabotage so many similar efforts these days. Off I’d go, drinking in anticipation, making them all laugh, having a weekend carved from the monument to pure hedonism, back in Blighty by Sunday evening ready for Monday morning travail. Then, a midweek call informing me it was happening all over again the coming weekend, that I was welcome once more, and true to my devil may care attitude and my lack of ties elsewhere, true to my indifference to an ever inflating Amex bill that should really have counselled otherwise, off I’d trot again to my newly discovered Dusseldorf drinking haunts. And to my Doris. Not Doris as in old English vernacular, but Doris as in appellation, Doris as in her name! Well, my meine liebe Doris would now and then prepare a breakfast composed of rolls divided into 3 parts of which one part would be layered with cheese, one with jam and the other plain for the purposes of the boiled egg which sat enthroned at the centre of  the courtiers encircling its regal presence. I was a right gadabout was I. Not a seeming care in the world, untroubled by family ties, there were none, untroubled by responsibility, untroubled by anything. I remember an aunt once asking me a question in this period, to which I reacted with some typically frivolous response. ‘Do you just laugh at everything?’ she replied, her manner anything but jocular. ‘Don’t you ever take anything seriously?’ I laughed. I wasn’t taking anything seriously. The laughter would never stop, would it? No, of course not!

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

Well, the laughter may not have stopped, but the cavalier spontaneity certainly left me for some greener pastures. An example of crossing the road was a modest example of difficulty, but I see no reason not to introduce areas of greater, almost impossible variety, current and real, requiring all manner of preparation just to enable an attempt whilst promising no surety of successful outcome. You listen and you be the judge of the correlation with the alcohol that inevitably snakes its way into the following story, this one story from a catalogue of multiple examples but the one most recent that makes me consider the futility of further resistance despite my gung ho message of defiance not more than 24 hours ago.It begins some months prior to the event itself, an event I have desired to witness in person for many years, the need to compete for tickets for PMQs always in heavy demand the reason for an early bird approach. Successfully booked, I awaited the day with increasing trepidation until my mounting disquiet penned an email on my behalf. 'Sorry for short notice, unexpected developments dictate the need for a cancellation, preferably a postponement if this email alienates not its recipient with its last minute composition.' The email was more expansive than this, I piled it on, obsequious too flaccid a word for my written prostrate supplication,  desperate to receive a second chance, desperate to ensure only a battle it was I had lost, not the war. The response to some measure mollified my worried soul, it was indeed, only a battle, and as if some unseen, silent force had allied itself to my cause, the revised date coincided with what would be Mrs May's last ever PMQs, a splendid event I have witnessed on TV oft times previously with other prime ministers, more than worthy of a real life visit when the house would be full and the jousting less toxic albeit robust and boisterous nonetheless. This time I would be ready.

The tickets came in pairs and whilst I was quite content to make my personal pilgrimage a solo affair, I considered the merits of inviting a guest, part altruistic my consideration, part self interest not entirely absent from my deliberations. I began in earnest my preparations 2 weeks in advance, enjoying my last real ale until the completion of my endeavour. Gradually my research intensified, entrenched habits, virtually and remotely examining the lay out of the building that was the equivalent of my Everest, availing myself of the official website which offered the facility of virtual on line tours, many of which to my undiluted interest and surprise, was aimed specifically at those individuals who are placed within the autistic spectrum and whose symptoms and difficulties clearly coincide with my own. Hmmm. That notwithstanding, it became clear from my forensic scrutiny that this was going to be no slice of sponge, so many elements conflating to produce a moving sequence of a slide show of horror. Tall buildings, long open halls, heavily armed police, security more intensive than airport terminals, an entire panoply of Danny's worst vignettes beautifully crafted together in loving preparation for his bestest possible experience. What was not to like? Yumbloodyyum! Westminster Hall held particular beauty and promise for me. I felt my hands moisten in the tranquil security of my small abode as I watched from a screen the reality beyond my door and beyond. By the time I had finished my laborious but distant familiarisation process, I knew the co-ordinates and dimensions and the procedure like the proverbial back of my hand, although I suspect I knew them better. The back of my hand instils in me not one iota of fear, Westminster Hall is already instilling me with terror...

https://www.parliament.uk/about/podcasts/video-tours/westminster-hall/

So, emboldened by a good period of abstinence, the morning of departure I was quietly confident. I felt healthy, I had subjected myself to a hard bout of high intensity exercise (always a wonderful antidote to all things malign, alas, normally after the event, not before), eaten an athlete's breakfast and was prepared for the inevitable escalating surge of adrenaline the nearer the time for immersion into the event arrived, an habitual surge that is as permanent a feature on my existence as the nose on my face. I had with me my emergency measures compendium, lavender for my wrists, a paper bag if my breathing needed assistance, Valium, that loathsome, odious Valium which I so detest, chewing gum and the omnipresent sunglasses, grateful that their prescription based origin would allow their use contrary to stated parameters for their non prescribed equivalent. It did cross my mind to pick up a cheap miniature whisky en route for last resort circumstance but it almost certainly be held at security and so of little productive benefit. I was as ready as I was going to be. 

https://www.thewhiskyexchange.com/p/3733/famous-grouse-miniature

Arriving in London, my home town, with buckets of time to spare, I tested my status, defiantly surveying the tall buildings at Fenchurch Street to their very apex, excellent litmus paper for my state of mind to judge the levels of my anxiety. I was able to maintain my gaze for a not unreasonable length of time. Not bad I thought, not bad at all. I know London well, born and bred I am conversant to an intimate degree with its geographical nature. The Houses of Parliament, well, what London visitor cannot at once visualise that corpulent and imposing vista, let alone an indigenous fellow? I had established that on PMQs day, the queue for security can take 45 minutes, not my best but I was still fine. Ha! Silly me! There was no need to worry! That benevolent unseen, unspeaking force was still with me! There was no queue at all!! This was going to be fine! I breathed a sigh of relief. I could now walk the route blind, so familiar had I made myself with the logistics, but Westminster Hall still played on my mind and I knew this was coming up fast. The coffee shop was exactly where it should be, and I suggested to my companion that since we had more than an hour to spare, perhaps a brief pause might be in order. I of course, would not dare risk coffee, the additional  caffeine in moments of potential crisis a guaranteed source of heightened woe and chaos, adding as it would to the adrenaline that would certainly flood my interior should things even yet take a turn for the worse. 

My companion. It is apposite to say a thing or two about my companion. I chose carefully, bearing in mind that my choice was limited in any event, these long years of a condition that ensured I remained fairly isolated and on the perifery of the social fabric having effectively rendered me largely Billy no mates. I don't mind being no mates Billy, I quite like my isolation and own company, but there are one or two drawbacks. And certainly, other than the period of stewardship of my son ( https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B013CEN8S6/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1) when he would be my best ever company in our various trips about the world, I have often undertaken these things I do alone, not hampered by the need to explain if I suddenly have to break into a sprint, not judged if I have to dart quickly into a pub to drink a pint of courage to move to the next stage of whatever event I am undertaking. I'm a scathing enough judge of myself, I need neither validation nor confirmation from anyone else about my periodic aberrant behaviour and I certainly won't apologise for it. I am best alone. That day I was not alone. The companion was female, an individual who whilst not knowing me well nor for any sustained period of long standing acquaintance, had witnessed by accident a mini 'event' I had undergone once before. I recognised at once her lack of judgement, her lack of condemnation, ridicule or endorsement. She was easy to read, one of those who will do anything for anyone, I suspect even provide a lift to a stranger if asked. Furthermore, her role within a medical environment suggested to me some exposure to the various and copious issues that roam the world and select their victims almost randomly. And finally, her innocence, her lack of experience of the world, extraordinarily devoid of virtually any real exploration beyond her parochial (in a totally non pejorative manner I employ that adjective, it is all literal in its inclusion) existence, geographical and otherwise. This last facet meant that the event that day would provide her with something so outside her normal frame of reference that no matter what happened to me, she would have something memorable to take from the experience. I had briefed her on the train, I had tried to explain and condense the last 40 years of my life in the 45 minutes the journey took, to prepare her in advance for what might happen and how she must no matter what proceed alone and witness a fairly unique experience. I could tell she could not quite grasp the concept, why would she? I mean, let's face it, it is a little weird…

 'I am off to have a quick look round,' I say.

 'Ok,' she says, soaking up the adventure, enjoying the coffee before her, not the only entity she was imbibing as she drank in the atmosphere, the majesty of the place, its unmissable historical aura. Off I go, venturing through a door on the right, marking the terrain, a soldier mapping out the landscape, scouting the territory. I happen upon the small souvenir shop, I have a quick glance round, they sell alcohol!! Expensive alcohol. Port and stuff, wine, oh, and miniature bottles of whisky. Six quid each!!! I could have bought three of these en route, but no matter, these aren't for consumption on the premises and besides, I am not going to need them today. There is a toilet up ahead, I have a look. Oooohhh! Dead plush! Modern interior contrasting unpleasantly with the antiquated exterior that leads to it I am thinking. Back out I come. There is another door, open, I know where it leads, I know, I just don't want to look. I am going to have to look. Tentatively I pop my head through the gap. Tortoise neck. Peering in. Westminster Hall. 72 metres? This is never 72 metres! It is much shorter. They got it wrong!! I smile, I rejoice, this will be easy. I do what I have been avoiding. I look up. Ok, not too bad, it's a buttressed type of ceiling, they at least got this right. It curves, it's only high dead centre. Just don't look. Damn, shouldn't have looked, what's been seen cannot be unseen. I look over at the small desk where stand the various attendants. I have my security badge on, dangling from its lanyard, I have been checked, no need to worry. Nothing to see here. Strange I think, not many people, especially not for PMQs.

'Hi,' I say as I regain the table. 'Nice little shop round there.' I am pointing. 'I think we should walk to the chamber, just see what it's like, collect our tickets and then come back and you have a look round the shop. We still have over an hour.'

'Ok,' she says. I am right about her character, entirely relaxed and easy going, no demands at all. We walk outside and I talk to one of the attendants.

'Very quiet today, isn't it? Especially for PMQs.' I am friendly, keen to elicit as much info as I can, I think I am a bit wobbly inside. I touch my pockets, verify the location of my emergency measures.

'Yes, it is,' he says, old boy, friendly and jaunty. 'Theresa isn't here of course today. Down at Portsmouth with Donald. June the fifth.’

 'Oh yeah, course!' I say, knowingly, having thought that she would be here first before helicoptering down there second. My heart sinks a bit, if she's not here, Corbyn will be absent too. At least Emily Thornberry will be there in his stead, she is better than him at the dispatch box, funny too. There is that. I quickly glance at my companion, to see if she shares my disappointment, that would make me sad for her, for anyone, I'd built it up so much. She reveals nothing, I am definitely right about her, she just doesn't mind. 

We enter the hall. It suddenly seems a lot longer than 72 metres, more like half a mile. I quickly absorb the scene at the end, where the stairs replace the flat floor. There are a pair of armed policemen on either flank. My heart is beginning to flutter, the attendants at the desk are looking at me, what can they see? Can they see through my flimsy veneer, are my forced efforts at relaxation personified that transparent. I smile, it's an effort. It's beginning.

'Do you mind if I grab your hand for a minute?' I whisper, the smile still etched on my face. 'Please don't misinterpret.' 

I had briefed her on the train, she is remembering, Her answer confirms she was the perfect person to ask. 

 'No problem,' she whispers back, her smile all real, no masquerade.

'Oh, and I'll need to walk on the left, by the wall, sorry.' I thought I didn't apologise.

She moves effortlessly into position and greedily I grab her hand as we begin our march to whatever is lurking down the road. The sweat has begun its passage, in no time I feel my armpits sodden, oh my god, we have barely walked 2 feet. 

 'Owww,' she whispers. 'Let me take my rings off.' 

It takes her forever, I seize her hand as soon as it becomes available once more. The steps are getting closer, beyond that St Stephen's Hall, I will be ok with Stephen's Hall. If only I could run, I could cover this ground in seconds, my age would be no match for the fuel of my panic, I know this so well. But I can't. I have to maintain a projection of relaxed calm, the police are well trained, I know this too. They are taught to spot the signs that deviate from the norm. I am standing out like something standing out. I smile at them as we approach wishing I could pass between them and the narrow gap to the wall. I will have to ascend the middle, leaving my precious wall, out in the deep end. I pretend to move slowly up the stairs but this theatre works, I am going up 4 at a time. My companion is having to jog slightly, she cannot make 4 at a time, she is not driven by the petrol of fear. My breathing returns to normal, I release my companion's hand. But now the anxiety is being spurred on, encouraged by its own momentum.

We are in the next hall, St Stephen’s. it is thin, just as I'd researched. Ok, Danny, ok, calm down now, we are fine. I am urging myself, trying to talk myself down. This hall is much shorter, pleasant almost. And then we are there, Central Lobby, gateway to both the Lords and Commons, where the throng assembles, where members of the public can come meet a member from either house, Central Lobby,  the final staging post before entering the House of Commons Chamber, our objective, Central Lobby which I had completely underestimated and to which I had not allocated enough preparation time. The ceiling!! Its height! Oh no! The perspiration takes no time to wreak its second round of mischief, my heart, how does my heart always survive these poundings? Will it always? I sit down, eyes glued to the floor, not daring to look up again. I tell my companion where the tickets need to be collected. She has no idea of the process, I educate her quickly. Whilst she is gone I am considering my options. I am paralysed. I cannot move forward, I cannot go back. What the fuck am I going to do? I am screaming inside. I am aware from my periferal vision of the seriously strong armed police presence in this confined space. I am aware I am courting attention. I embolden myself and sit upright, staring at any official with a weapon staring at me, smiling as broadly as I can as I make childish gestures of enormous excitement. My companion comes back, tickets in hand.

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2019/jan/16/the-scream-edvard-munch-ultimate-image-political-age-british-museum

'We have to go back!' I whisper loudly, desperately. She doesn't hesitate, no matter what happens here, I will buy her an expensive lunch. She in indescribably tolerant and understanding. I am making a fool of myself and her by association. I stand up, I never knew standing could be so physically demanding, I take her hand without asking and pretend to saunter back whence we came, pointing out frescoes I am not really looking at as we go. Westminster Hall is no easier on the return leg than the original, but we make it, back to the coffee shop, still 45 minutes to go. She is looking at me without speaking, I am looking at nothing, too busy on my inner dialogue. I suggest she takes a tour of the shop, a suggestion she gladly embraces. I am thinking hard, tears not distant as the effort takes its inevitable emotional toll. I have dark glasses on, no-one sees. 

'I am not going back in,' I declare upon her return.

'Really?' she says, this time her disappointment apparent, though I suspect more for me than for her.

 'I can't,' I say, 'but you can, and you must. I will wait for you in a pub I know nearby. I can't go through that again.' I am on the verge of running away, out of that place, back to safety, away from high interiors and wide spaces and everything that hasn’t been sanitised. If only life could be sanitised. 

We sit silent. The cafe is busy, excited tourists chattering, sharing each others joy, the novelty of it all. Ten minutes pass.

'Right,' I say. 'I have three choices. I can leave, I can take a Valium or I can buy a whisky and drink it in the loo.'

She is listening, she listens well, she would make an excellent counsellor I think, reflecting back what she hears without making a definitive statement. 

‘If I take a Valium it will have to be 10mg, there will be no time for a smaller dose, my normal dose. I've never taken 10mg in one day before. But if I do that, I will have a window of opportunity for about an hour, and then I will need a beer as the anxiety will explode after its enforced suppression.’ I know the story, I know what happens, it’s become ritual. I have to get the timing dead right, it has to be impeccable.

‘Or I could drink  whisky,’ I think out loud. ‘Ok, go buy a whisky if you would, here's the money.' I don’t care about the preposterous price. I am buying calm.

She goes. I look at the time. The whisky won't work. Not one. I am not going to leave without seeing PMQs. I take a Valium.

 'I've got it,' she says.

'Thanks. I won't need it now. I've taken Valium.'  Don’t worry, I am thinking, it won’t go to waste.

We sit there for 20 minutes, I am waiting for the little pill to work its false magic. We go back in, I am calm. We get into the chamber. Thornberry is there but she isn't standing in for Corbyn, I am not surprised, she overshadows him. He won’t let her put him in her shadow. We stay for half hour, the pill is already beginning to wear off. That’s fast, and very strange. But I know my companion has had enough anyway, the main thrust, the primary fun of PMQs is the half hour between midday and half past. Besides, it's quite boring today. All the principal protagonists are absent. My principal protagonist isn’t absent unfortunately. Mr Anxiety is preparing his second, more deadly wave of attack.

 'Ready?' She nods. We leave. Westminster Hall again. Bastard. I take her to the pub I know on the bridge. She has tonic water, I have a pint and a large whisky. I have never tasted beer so good. That's a lie. All the other times relief has replaced terror the beer has tasted just as good.

 'I will buy you a fabulous lunch,' I say, and I mean it. She deserves it. 

This effort will drain me for at least 5 days, it always does. Is the effort worth the aftermath? Was what happened an excuse or a reason to have that drink that continued for the rest of the day? Wouldn’t it just be easier not to try anymore? You decide. I’m too drained….

[greggreaen]

How To Start and Maintain A Consistent Exercise Routine

Struggling to maintain a healthy exercise habit? Here are my top training tips on how to start (and KEEP) a consistent exercise routine.

It’s pretty easy to start doing spin class, or eating healthy, or foam rolling after your workouts, but sticking with it in the longterm is a much more difficult task.

You get busy. You’re too sore. Life happens.

And sooner than later, the excuses start to pile up. You end up skipping a few days, a week, maybe even a few weeks. Before you know it, you’re back at square one feeling defeated. It’s a vicious cycle.

In fact, learning to keep a consistent workout schedule is one of the main components of my Strong Body Beautiful coaching course.  I teach you how to create a fitness habit that sticks. It doesn’t have to be that difficult.

With a slight change of your mindset, some simple planning and a little motivation, you can start (and keep!) a consistent workout schedule—for good.

Here’s how to begin:

How To Start and Maintain a Consistent Exercise Routine

Create a ritual

One of the best ways to start any kind of habit is to create a ritual around the habit you want to create. And working out is no different.

For example, maybe you want to work out first thing in the morning before you go to work every weekday. You might create a ritual where every morning before work, you get up, eat a small breakfast while listening to your favorite podcast, then do a workout, shower, and commute to work.

The idea is to get your mind and body so used to including a workout in your morning routine (or whatever time of day you like to work out) that you no longer have to think about it—it just comes naturally to you.

To give you a better idea of what this really looks like, here’s my weekday workout ritual:

I get up around 7:30, have coffee + breakfast, and work for a couple of hours.

Around 10 to 10:30, when I start getting sick of sitting at my computer, I put on my workout clothes.

I walk to the gym or the pool (usually Equinox – you know I’m obsessed

I work out.

And my weekend/vacation ritual:

Get up and put on my workout clothes.

Have coffee and a small breakfast

Wait 10-15 minutes, then work out.

Shower and go do something fun!

Plan it in your calendar

Another way to make sure your workouts are ingrained in your schedule is to simply put them on the calendar—just as you would any other appointment.

Schedule time in your calendar every week for your exercise. Make this time nonnegotiable time expressly for you. If a potential conflict comes up, try saying something like “I’m so sorry, but I have plans” or “Thanks for thinking of me! I’d love to another time.” If you must make a change, reschedule your workout time for another day that week and stick to it. Treat your exercise appointments like any other essential appointments you can’t miss. Remember: you are the boss.

The Strong Body Beautiful program works with you use your calendar to help you reach your goals.

Commit for 30 days

Most of us have heard that it takes anywhere from 21 to 30 days to build a habit that sticks.

The key is to commit to the habit you want to create—such as working out 4x a week—and giving yourself a 30 day “trial” of doing that habit consistently. Tell yourself that if you want, you can go back to your old habits at the end of your 30 days.

When the end of the 30 days is up, see how you feel. Do you feel stronger, more confident, more energized, fit? My guess is that you’ll decide you prefer the way you feel after working out consistently, and not want to return to how you were beforehand.

If that’s the case, congratulations, you’ve created a workout habit.

The Strong Body Beautiful program includes 42 days of cardio, strength training, flexibility, and rest to help you reap the benefits of consistent self care to be your best. 

Start small

When you first start working out on a regular basis, it’s never a good idea to commit to six days a week of hard core workouts.

Why? Because before you know it you’ll be sore, exhausted, burnt out, and possibly even injured.

A better tactic is to start small—try out two or three days a week of exercise for a few weeks or even a few months.

Only then, when you’ve stuck with the workouts for a while and feel like you’re motivated to do more, should you push yourself to increase the frequency or intensity of your workouts.

Baby steps now equal massive success in the long term.

My Strong Body Beautiful course teaches you how to make small, realistic changes that help you reach your goals.  There are no extremes, just simple effective strategies and small steps that move you forward towards success that lasts.  

Don’t make excuses

One of the biggest mistakes people make when trying to form a lifelong workout habit is constantly making excuses when something comes up.

People make all kinds of excuses for not working out—they’re on vacation, they’re sick, too sore, too busy, they’re too tired.

While it’s certainly acceptable (and important!) to take a day off, letting yourself make too many excuses will break you of the habit and make it harder to stick with it in the long run.

And the solution is simple: just stop making excuses.

Traveling? You can still work out, even if all you have is a hotel room.

Tired? Exercise will boost your energy, so try 10 minutes of movement and see if it gives you a little lift. 

Busy? You’ve no doubt got 5-10 minutes —and you could probably use a break from your hectic schedule to exercise and take some time to yourself anyway.

There will always be things to do and people who need you, but if you don’t have your health you won’t be able to do any of it well. YOU are the secret to accomplishing everything on your to-do list. A one hour workout is less than 4% of your day, and you don’t even need all 60 minutes to be effective! Instead of finding reasons you can’t exercise, start finding reasons you CAN. Stop the excuse habit and start the exercise habit. You’ll thank yourself for it.

You have to start

No matter how you go about it, the only way to really, truly keep a consistent workout schedule and establish working out as a lifelong habit is to start.

Stop waiting. Start Doing. You are worth committing to. Keep challenging yourself to be good to YOU. 

And don’t quit. Never quit.

Need support in starting a consistent exercise routine that sticks? My Strong Body Beautiful program is 6 weeks of comprehensive training to help you start and maintain a sustainable workout routine. There are NO extremes, quick fixes, or false promises. Just simple, effective, DO-ABLE healthy lifestyle hacks that create habits which last. Which means you get fitter and feel better both in your body and within yourself. It also means you get results without going nuts in the process.

Every day is detailed and full of support to help you in your fitness, nutrition, stress, and self care. You can take the program at your own pace and customize it to meet your unique schedule, goals and needs. The program is intended to be used more than once and repeated to help you stay motivated and maximize results.

One of the best parts about enrolling in the course is that it connects you to strong women all over the world who share in your healthy lifestyle goals. Who can support you in honoring your commitment to yourself. Who can cheer you on when the going gets tough or motivate you when you need a little boost. That’s one of the reasons I created the course in the first place: to help women like US come together over living a strong life.

Ready to go? Enroll here.

Taking care of yourself regularly takes courage, consistency, and work, but the payoff is in the quality of your life. Small changes net big results, and any time you invest in feeling your best will pay you back in health. What is one hack you use to stay on track with working out? Let me know in the comments below.

Love and squats,

Caroline

Other Things To Check Out: 

How to Be Fit Without Obsessing about it. Getting In Shape for Summer the Healthy Way.

How To Get A Summer Six Pack! Fast, Effective Ab Exercise Routine That Works.

How To Get A “Toned” Physique.

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