Ending, Sort Of

With the end of the year approaching I spent most of the afternoon and evening working, preparing what needs to be done for the year to come. But I took a break to clear the cobwebs, popping down to the gym an hour or so ago. And it was there I realised my resolution for the year - to end it in better shape physically than I began - had failed miserably. After just twenty-five minutes on the Elliptical Trainer I found myself fighting to keep going, sweating spectacularly and trembling in each extremity - when my routine stint is fifty minutes. The fact that the last time I got to the gym was over a month ago, back on 21 November, was to blame I suppose, but I really didn't think I could fall from the level of fitness I'd established by late November as obviously as I have. However, I take some tiny comfort from the fact I kept going for the full fifty - and sort of survived. Indeed, I suppose I should take considerable solace from the fact I'm just below my fighting weight and feel generally healthy, having got through the year dealing only twice with the problems generated by my messed-up back.

I mention all this since I'm now considering what my resolution for 2020 should be. As readers of the scribblings that comprise A Far Place are probably aware, I find much to admire in keep-goingness. Thus I'm inclined to make my resolution for the new year a realistic: I will keep going patiently, but that's a bit defeatist, just a statement of what I should do regardless of circumstance. I suppose I'll have to sleep on it and hope for inspiration from the old unconscious.