I’ve been thinking about accountability.
I have three coaching clients who talk to me about their weight. Possibly with some help from me, they are making significant changes in their lives. Awesome changes to their habits and self image and priorities.
I then go home and eat (organic!) oreos and feel fat.
I hadn’t talked about it with anyone (like my own coach, for instance) because I didn’t want to be accountable to anyone else. I know how accountability works: If I’m accountable to someone, then I’d actually have to do something about it.
I can blow myself off, but I’m not going to blow someone else off.
I think I’ve been waiting for it to get bad enough. Last summer’s capris not fitting right was pretty bad. Comparing myself to the totally fucking adorable woman at a café the other day was pretty bad.
But thinking about what a hypocrite I am was what pushed me over the edge.
I trade with a personal trainer. I life coach him; he personal trains me. He’s accountable to me for all kinds of interesting things. But I just work out one day a week with him. Maybe I go running later in the week; maybe not. I’m certainly not accountable for it.
Lame.
After our workout on Monday, I blurted out — despite myself, kicking myself because now I’m going to have to actually do it — what I am going to do for the rest of the week:
- Tuesday: run around Seward Park with my 5-year-old on her bike
- Wednesday: half hour on the NordicTrac (groan)
- Thursday: run around the park with both kids on bikes
- Friday: half hour on the NordicTrac
He challenged me to a hill workout on Wednesday: a figure 8 around Seward Park with two climbs up the spine trail. Something to do with strengthening my quads or hamstrings or something.
And because I was accountable to him, on Tuesday Z and I ran/rode around the park. And sent him a message that I’d done it.
And this morning, before writing this, I did that damn hill run. Took me an hour and 10 minutes. I had all kinds of reasons why I couldn’t/shouldn’t: I should rest my knees; I ran yesterday; the house is a disaster; I have administrative things I have got to do; I really want to go write…
But because I’d told him I’d do it, I went running. Twice up that damn hill. I can’t wait to send him a message that I’ve done it.
Feels great to be accountable. I don’t feel fat at all.