I cross the imaginary finish line, and I stop running. I keep walking around and I try to walk it out. I'm panting and I'm sweating and I feel miserable. I lean agaisnt a tree and I hate running, I hate running so much.
The finish line that I had overcome only applies to me, which makes in more meaningful and more frustrating at the same time. Behind every finish line I create for myself is another finish line. Over the past year I've crossed a lot of them, and they keep getting further away. I'm proud of myself for the work I've done in the past year in terms of getting in better shape, but the phrase "better shape" only compares me to myself. Most of my friends are still more fit, more athletic and more better than me.
Exercising this year has made me proud because it's toootaaallly not anything I'm used to and it does not come naturally to me at all. Not that running a bunch comes naturally to anyone. One of the things that I've learned this year is that everyone has been working out and exercising this whole time, and I just never knew about it. At first I thought it was like, really admirable of me to be going to the gym, and that that moved me into a different class of person, but no, there's my friend from Psychology, lifting weights like a champion. He seems like such a normal guy, and here he is, working his ass off. Cool. There's the girl from german class, running what has to be at least 5 miles on the track. Even if it's not significant or remarkable, I'm still proud of myself. I get done running and everything in me seems to scream "WE ARE SEDENTARY AND PEACEFUL. CUT THIS OUT." I would take more enjoyment out of spiting my own body so, but whenever this happens I'm also pretty miserable and sweaty and tired. So. Not ideal.
I'm going to try my best to keep going, and I'm going to try my best to keep getting better, but it's going to suck, and I'm going to waste a bunch of time doing something that I only appreciate and value in hindsight.
I'm not looking forward to this at all.