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So my mini streak was in trouble.

I had watched “The Office” with my wife, and I was starting to settle in. I didn’t plan the time needed to work out and then get to toastmasters in the morning, so I was in some trouble. I got to 10pm without working out.

I decided that keeping the streak going was more important than getting to bed. I knew I’d be able to get one goal done if I did that. So I laced up my shoes, and got out there.

Man, talk about a beautiful night. I was so glad within about ten steps that I was running. I felt air at the perfect temperature hit my lungs. My legs pounded and turned over at good intervals. I felt fantastic.

I was running faster than I have in months. It felt absolutely perfect.

Until I slammed into the ground a quarter of a mile into the run. I scuffed my phone cut my hand on the concrete, banged my foot, and bruised my side.

I didn’t see someone’s driveway, and I smacked the ground and rolled. This was a quarter of a mile into the run, and my heart was racing.

My first thought: “Bummer, at least I tried.” I picked myself up, and my hand was bleeding.

And a little voice said, “You’re not hurt that bad.”

The moon was gorgeous. I had a choice–get up and run, and move, or make an excuse and stay fat.

This time I answered the bell. I got after it, and I had the best run I’ve had in two years. I got to feel like I was fit again. I got my streak of six that was one of my goals. I knew that I had a built in excuse. I went to run but I banged myself up. Nobody would blame me.

But me. I’d know that I let myself off the hook–that I wasn’t really going to get my goals done. So I ran, and I was rewarded for JUST AN OUNCE of discipline.

I think that this will be a moment in my life I look back on and remember, at the end when I’m back in shape. I think i’m gonna get knocked around a few more times, and that’s OK. Time to rock.

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