5 Lies I Tell Myself

1. I'm hungry. More than likely, I'm anxious. Or bored. Or distracted. Snacking, which has historically been most of my eating, is a self-medicating habit born of a desire to avoid thinking or doing something I'd rather not. And, like most people surrounded by food options, I often mistake hunger for thirst. Just having nearby some low-calorie drinks or flavored water often does the trick. Yesterday morning, after running 8.5 miles, I though I'd be ravenous. I wasn't. Just thirsty. After a couple waters I was fine until lunch.
2. I'll do it later. Truth is, plenty of times I never get to it -- whatever it is -- or, by the time I start it, it has morphed into something else less useful, helpful, or effective. Procrastination has been the bane of my existence. I excel in the art of finding ways to put off today what I expect can be done tomorrow. Simply wanting to start a task or project later should inform me that it's best to start it now. And, as is often the case, I have multiple tasks bearing down on me, it's best to start the most challenging of them first. Because there's nothing worse that working all week long to find the biggest chore or toughest project waiting for you when the weekend arrives.
3. I'll stretch after. My legs are as flexible as cement pylons. My left calf and Achilles tendon seem permanently sore. You'd think that running the length of a half marathon most weekends would force me to stretch at least a few minutes before and after. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong. I often take off without any stretching and wrap up with a few toe touches and foot flexings. If I have any hope of qualifying for the Boston Marathon, I have to stretch religiously. Five minutes before and after each run is the least I can do for my legs' long-term health.
4. I do my fair share. My wife works late every day. Her job is important. She faces a management crisis almost every week. And her departments are so understaffed that she has no real hope of catching up in the foreseeable future. Which is why I handle the laundry, garbage, dishes, bills, and most other household chores. When people hear that, I get compliments. I shouldn't. Because my "fair share" would really include more. I've never parked a car in our cluttered garage. I've never had made a home for my wife's paperwork. I've relied too much on paying other people to do things I could do myself. Small chores, no longer left for later, would give her more breathing room. Me too, most likely.
5. I know better. There are millions of people who think John McCain is a maverick ("we want four more years of Bush!"), or hope to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry ("gay love threaten me!"), and believe “The Flintstones” was based on a true story ("dumb down science with religion!"). I disagree with their positions and think we'll be worse off if they win in November. However, I won't change a single mind or vote by mocking opponents. The few people who do pay attention to opposing opinions would find it far easier to reflexively defend fact-free positions than listen to someone berating their beliefs. The better argument begins with, "Let me understand you" — and not as a passive-aggressive shiv. I need to re-read "A Conservative for Obama" every time my blood boils over news of another misleading McCain ad, painful Palin gaffe, or misinformed Christian conservative who neither sounds very Christian or acts very conservative. Seek to understand, in other words, before seeking to be understood.