Struggling for impetus

Motivation and inspiration are elusive things. At times I feel an urge to get out and train, to push my body to its limits and, through that, push those limits just a little further away. This stretching towards the rainbow's end is the addictive, invigorating aspect of training.
At the other extreme are the turgid, listless days. The days I'm grumpy and want to kick pigeons on the street. I mope around with a small knot in the stomach and a faint air of unease and dissatisfaction. I fidget and cannot settle to anything, even to accepting that I'm not going to train and enjoying the relaxation. These are the days when I would most benefit from getting out there, sucking in some fresh air or battering myself in the gym. But for some reason on those days I just can't be bothered. It's not as though I do anything else useful with my time. I just feel myself getting irritated with myself and the world at large. I know I'll be glad if I do the exercise. But it is as though there is some unseen force gluing me down, clogging me up and clouding my thoughts.
On days like that I do pointless things, like writing this blog entry. What I really need to do is stop wasting my life, turn off the bloody computer, put my trainers on, stop being all that I despise, and get down to the gym. After all, I'm going to be murdered at Gym Jones next week.
There, that's done it. I'm fixed.
Off to the gym!
(You too...)