When I was in year 12 my school hosted a motivational speaker.
For those not familiar with my age, it was roughly an eon ago and, dependant upon which part of the hemisphere you reside within, it was either 12 or 13 years ago.
The speaker was very
He told a tale which I tucked up into the sleeve of my (discoloured) white school polo and have carried with me ever since.
He told us that once upon a time he was a fatty with mental health issues. And that he knew he had to do something about both.
He told us he decided to start running. He knew regular exercise would shift the podge and positively assist his battle with head health.
He set himself a goal. A three weeks worth of exercise goal. And he committed to it.
I listening intently from the front row.
He told us it takes three weeks to form a habit, or break one if that’s what you require.
He took us back to that time: after his three week cycle of daily jogs he had lost weight and was feeling better about himself and life. And even better, running had become a part of his routine. He was hooked he told us, while sprinting about the makeshift stage.
I was floored. And he was damned skinny.
He went further. He described his running style: jogging at a decent clip while fist-pumping the air with hand weights.
He told us, one time a fellow exerciser had stopped him and asked what on earth he was up to? He had responded, jogging all the while, the words thrown over his shoulder, “Sorting out my life!”
In between his running tale, telling us to do our homework, to give year 12 our best shot and his life sorting declaration, his words had an impact.
In under a month he had changed the direction of his life. One daily run and fist pump at a time.
It seemed to me then, and it certainly does now, an entirely manageable task.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. One cycle of contraception pills.
I recall it often, but like many of the unmotivated, put it into practice less.
I am constantly on a self-development cycle, be it sugar-free, daily news reading, positive-thought thinking or lunch packing.
And at this cusp of the year point, at a moment when I am staring down a new beginning, an opportunity for a fresh start and another crack at a list of self-improvement goals, my year 12 motivator has come striding back into my life.
So here they are, my resolutions; my New Year intentions:
- 1 x tweet daily (@ACrowdedHour)
- 10 x minutes writing and French practice every other day
- No snacks (excluding special occasions)
- Pull-up ability (x 5 in a row by my birthday)
Bite-sized and achievable. And I am only three weeks away from absolutely nailing all of them.
Call me cocky, but I think it’s something worth fist-pumping about.
Catch you next year.