In the words of O'Shea Jackson, today was a good day. It was also my toughest day because of some unfortunate circumstances last night. Two Dodgers dogs, two malts, and a lot of drinking after the baseball game served to ennervate me on the crucial day in which I could put the balance in my favor--seven workout days to six off days.
The local Irish pub apparently serves rum and sambuca, my two favorite drinks, and, if you ask me, two very un-Irish spirits. These liqueurs, served to me in great quantities thanks to a generous friend and a talented bartender, made exercising the last thing on my mind when I woke up this morning. The greasy chorizo and eggs I had for a late breakfast didn't help the cause much either.
I finally hit the gym about ten tonight, and my chosen motivation was a higher number of three of the exercises. I did thirty-five squats, forty calf raises, and thirty-five of all three types of jump roping. As it was my normal "legs" day in my weightlifting routine, I also added some lunges, using the length of the dark workout room and twenty pounds of resistance. I can promise you I will be very sore tomorrow, if from nothing more than these lunges.
There is something about progress, be it small or large, that motivates one when he feels he cannot do something. Sometimes this progress is imagined or its truth stretched, but for one crucial night at least, it worked for me.