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Photo 14-04-2015 11 35 19 am

Photo credit: The Oatmeal

Yesterday morning, I had a job interview out in Parramatta. I got up and packed my bag with my gym gear as I planned to go to a class when I got back into the city. My interview finished with enough time for me to get back to my usual Tuesday class but, sitting on the train on the way home, I started to get hungry. I started to think, ‘maybe I should just go home’. I’m my own worst enemy because, when that voice starts to make excuses, I very rarely talk myself out of doing what it says. It’s always advocating the easy option and I’m nothing if not a lover of the path of least resistance.

To be fair, I had a lot to do at home. I had some jobs I wanted apply for. I had last night off work to go to my sister’s graduation and I would usually have tonight off as well but the other waitress asked me to cover her. I have lots of appointments before I have to go in to cover this shift so I knew I would have very little time to do my uni work today. And, of course, I was hungry.

I’d already eaten a little healthy protein ball thing to tide myself over but that’s never enough. My brain demanded sugar. I foolishly walked through the food court of the QVB pondering my next step. Would I go to the gym? Wouldn’t I? Soon enough, I found myself looking at pastries (glazed doughnuts, no less!), such was my desire to ruin everything and not go to the gym. Thankfully, I had exactly zero cash and most small businesses will ask for a minimum spend on card so I got the fuck out of there and marched to the gym. Did my class. Went home. Achieved stuff.

Why do brains do this to us? I had all my stuff ready to go to the gym. Once I got off the train, I was no more than 10mins walk from the gym. I had time; the class I wanted to do was only 30mins long. Fuck you, brain. We’re meant to be in this together! You’re meant to be the smart one. The heart is meant to pull stupid shit like this, not you!

It really is a constant battle sometimes. Never mind other people, it’s your own inner voice that will do the worst damage, sabotage you when you least (and most) expect it. You can have the best intentions in the world, be totally prepared to kick ass and then – booyah! – that bastard little voice pipes up and your conviction crumbles like a tea-soaked cookie.

Shit. Don’t talk about cookies. I’ll want one and I’ve already had my sweets quota for this week (yes, I know it’s only Wednesday. Don’t judge me dammit!).

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