If they tell you that studying is easier than working, that it leaves you lots of free time, that it helps you stay flexible, THEY'RE LYING. A course at 25% means a theoretical equivalent of 10 hours of work per week, three such courses 30 hours. So why does it feel like I'm working full time?
Still, I'm loving every single course I'm taking this semester, warts and all. Each one of them is extremely interesting and fun, although I still haven't figured out how to distribute my time so that I do all of them justice. One day I'm completely focused on photography. Next day I'm engrossed by sports psychology. The third day I've already forgotten everything I'm supposed to have learned. Goldfish memory – making students miserable since 5000 BC.
It's funny how running seems like such a great prospect the evening before, when I've finally put my books down. But when it was actually time to go running after a photo manipulation / essay writing marathon earlier today, I was reluctant. The weather was not lifting a finger to motivate me. Dark clouds floated lazily in the sky and tiny seed pods from the trees danced in the wind, reflecting the warm autumn light when the sun managed to break through the clouds. Actually, it doesn't sound that bad when I put it in writing. Funny. Maybe the weather wasn't the problem after all. Maybe I was just more motivated to finish up the essay.
|This horrible weather was the cause for some ugly rainbows, too. Bleh. Rainbows. Just as bad as unicorns and puppies.|
I am remarkably well-disciplined when it comes to running, though, a self discipline that I wish would wash off on other areas of my life (*ahem* cooking *cough* doing the dishes *ahem*). I tried to feel excited about it. Tried to remember the days when I wasn't allowed to go running because of my knee. Tried to think about how fun it would be to run on new grounds. Nothing worked. I just had to do it.
Of course, I managed to pick this particular route on this particular day. I wanted to see what the local running track in the woods looked like. It looked like a torture chamber. Up it went, up until I was hallucinating I was climbing Everest, until my eyes watered and my throat was sore with the effort of finding some oxygen to inhale. Everyone knows oxygen levels are low on Everest.
I persevered and was rewarded with the ground levelling out. I filled my lungs with air, caught my breath and promptly took the wrong turn, a horse track leading me up yet another mountain. But I was spent. I had to take a walking break. When I reached the peak, I resumed running and it was all downhill from there. Strangely enough, running got easier after that initial high altitude shock, so much easier that I took a detour by the river to collect the final couple of kilometres that would bring me up to an even 10K.
I need to scout a route that will capture my imagination. And not just any route: a long run route. Now that I'm up and running longer distances again, there is no point in holding back. I need to expand my horizons and find my motivation. Hopefully on flat ground.