Chickens and Eggs

My workouts have been real work for the past week or so. I feel like I'm struggling to get even the basic three or four miles done. I tried for six miles on Saturday and barely managed five. I've not been cranking up my speed or my incline to push myself because I'm breathing hard and sweating harder from the get go.

I'm just not getting that rush at the end of the workout, either. All I seem to get is sleepy.

I feel puffy and round and my clothes feel tight.

In other words, mookshe. Pronounced mook-shee. It's a word my mom uses and she claims it's German, though no German speakers I know have heard of it. The best way to describe what it means is to explain what it feels like. Curl up your nose and sort of whine/moan. The noise you make is what mookshe feels like. Nothing's actually wrong, but nothing is remotely right.

So as I'm battling myself on the treadmill, I start thinking about all the other things I'm feeling:

I'm so tired when I wake up. My bass is dragging all day. I'm not eating well. I'm not sleeping right, either.

And then it occurs to me. What is the chicken and what is the egg?

Am I tired and struggling because I'm not eating well and sleeping right? Am I not eating well and sleeping right because my workout schedule is off?

Or, does it matter?

If one of those things is out of whack, the others topple over, too.

Balance is the key. They all work together to make me feel good.

It's a good thing to remember as I reach for an extra brownie. Or as I watch some stupid Housewives episode at midnight. What I do will affect my workout tomorrow. And my workout will affect my food choices. And so on, and so on, and so on ...

(And now I'm going to bed.)