Angsty

At one in the morning I was doing hills on my treadmill while watching Rome and trying to convince myself that I haven't taken a major step backwards as far as exercise goes in the past few weeks.

At two in the morning I decided to see if I could mix some kicks into my fairly lame heavy bag routine, results were better than could be expected (meaning I didn't hurt myself too badly and rocketed the damn bag halfway across the basement at least twice even though several of my "kicks" barely shook the thing).

By four in the morning I had taken a cold shower and climbed into bed soaking wet and spent the next little while staring at the ceiling debating whether or not to shave my head and embrace my growing baldness and if it would be a good idea to buy some khakis and a few polo shirts that aren't black or dark blue.

At nine I was back on the treadmill, watching Rome again, feeling even worse than I did eight hours before.

By noon I had given up on the spring wardrobe, was severely doubting the whole head shaving thing, and couldn't decide if tonight held greater potential for salvation or disaster.

Damn. It's going to be another long one isn't it?