Besides writing, one of my primary tools for stress and tiredness is exercising. At this point, I exercise four times a week. Earlier in the year, I tried six days a week. But that did not work out, and then if I lost a few days out of the six, I felt cheated from a good workout week. Moving down to four days helped me stay focused. Something inside my head told me, “you’re a failure because you can’t do six days.” The thought makes me laugh a bit. Now I do 100% of my workout a week because I exercise 4 days a week, and I do 45 minutes. I’m concentrating on cardio right now, so I do 25 minutes on the treadmill and 20 on the stationary bike.
I realized that running is challenging, and I HATE it with a passion. However, here’s the positive side of it, I am too busy filling my lungs with air that my mind drowns about 99% of my endless thoughts. It’s thinking, “60 seconds. Now 30. Just 15 seconds left. Mississippi 10, Mississippi 9, holy crap, Mississippi 7, and more craps until I reach Mississippi 1.” I walk, jog, and run until I reach 1 mile and a lap. That’s where I am at on my workout. I’m trying to move up in miles in less time. I also punch the bag here and then at times, and that one helps with anger.
I’ve read the following on social media several times, “Food is the most abused anxiety drug. Exercise is the most underutilized antidepressant.” For some reason, I was stupefied when I read that for the first time. I thought about it for a minute. I finally admitted to myself that I do eat during ansty and stressful times. Exercising does help relief stress, as I mentioned, and even exhaustion.
I am no professional. But based on my experience, I recommend working out. Also, writing becomes frustrating at times because the thoughts get stuck like a congested freeway. The ideas are there, but they’re not making any sense, or it’s too packed that we can’t see ahead—nothing. We don’t see. We just sense.
Wouldn’t it be better to get out of the car and just start walking when the freeway hits a halt? NOT IN REAL LIFE OF COURSE. Figuratively, I get off the highway of thoughts, and I literally walk/jog/run on the treadmill—Fill those lungs up and curse the running here and there. But then I have this sense of accomplishment—a little triumph. If you hate running as much as I do, you’ll have a love and hate relationship with it. Unlike a terrible relationship that I would say, “run away from that person,” with running, I say with it.