You, whose feet barely lifted off the belt of the tread mill.
You, who keeps slowly moving your legs taking up equipment.
You, who stepped off the belt every couple of minutes to take a water break.
You, whose eyes were so permanently glued to the damn monitor on the machine every time I looked over.
You, whose sweat wreaks and soaked your shirt as you stepped off the machine after your single twenty-five minute mile.
There is something you should know:
|You know who you are|
You are freaking AWESOME!!!
Every shallow step you take, you carry the weight of two of me, clinging to your bones, begging to be shaken off. Every minute your on there you paying off the debt of another midnight snack, another dessert, another beer. It's six in the morning, but you have not let that stop you from putting together a regimen. This isn't the first day I've seen you here, and I'm sure it won't be the last. you are starting a journey that lasts a life time, and you've started it four months before New Years resolutions start to kick in. You run without music in your ears and I can only imagine the mantras thta you tell yourself as you heave your ever-shrinking mass forward, step after step.
Let's go, feet. Shut up, legs. Fuck you, fat. If you'd only look up from that display during the next session, you'd see that may gaze has no condescension in it.
I have nothing but respect for you. You've got this!
|Go get you some!!!!|