If the Ninth Circle of Hell is for betrayers, then the tenth is for lazy S.O.B.s. The most famous denizen of the Ninth Circle is one of the Twelve Apostles, Judas. The Tenth Circle is home to the almost-thirteenth apostle, Brian. He kept meaning to join up with those guys; he just never got around to it.
What is the punishment in the Tenth Circle? Having to relive the first week of whatever endeavor you started, but never finished. And why is this the punishment? Because Week One is HELL.
As I said in my first blog post, my self-improvement efforts are characterized by starts and stops. So at the same time that I’m trying to establish a healthy writing regimen, I’m also trying to get back on the horse with exercising regularly. And while I haven’t yet written every day or exercised every day, I have managed to work myself into a pretty terrible mood. So at least I have something to show for my efforts.
Why is Week One such an awful experience? Because it is the furthest point you can ever be from where you want to be. Yeah, yeah, yeah, if you want to sound really inspirational, you can say that “not starting” is the furthest point. But anyone who’s ever put off writing a paper knows that’s a lie. Sitting on the couch watching TV? That doesn’t feel so bad. It’s when you sit down next to the research books you have yet to read and open the blank document on your screen that you realize just how far back you really are. That’s the real problem with Week One. Reality sets in. And you are always worse off than you thought you were.
If I think of all of the benefits that come from regular exercise—more energy, less anxiety, better sleep—they all pale in comparison to one thing: getting past Week One. Fact #1: You are ALWAYS more out of shape than you think. Fact #2: Whatever you’re trying to do—even if you’ve really dumbed it down to ease into things—feels impossible. Fact #3: It’s exhausting. WAY more exhausting than it should be. Once, I tried to start out just by doing a few sets of pushups. It took me two whole days to recover.
But I’ve made it past Week One of working out before—much more often, in fact, than I’ve made it past Week One of writing. In the past couple of years, I’ve taken to using workout DVDs lent to me by very gracious (and very svelte) sister. Because those programs cycle through the same workouts, they’re a great way to track your progress. The times I manage to stick with them, I’m always astonished at the transformation. Not in physique, but in ability and mindset. There comes a day, after weeks of simply trying to finish the same workout, where I realize I’m actually pushing myself. Somehow, miraculously, making it to the end of the workout has become a foregone conclusion. Now I want to kick some ass.
It’s at this point that I begin to look forward to working out. I start to feel like something’s off if I don’t workout. In fact, it’s such a good feeling that I can’t believe I’m here, back at the beginning of another attempt at working out. But, being back at the beginning, and having come back here many, many times, I’ve learned a few things.
As I said in my last post, the beginning of any endeavor, for me, is about figuring out my own excuses for getting out of doing work. When I begin to exercise, the first issue I have is that I always, always forget how hard it was to get to the point where working out felt good. I begin my first Week One workout, confident with the memories of how I felt at the end of my last stint of exercise, and all of a sudden find myself in a body seemingly made out of rusted lead. And I am surprised. Each. And every. Time. It’s at this point that the first wave of excuses kicks in: “I know I can do better than this. I have done better than this. Something must be wrong. Maybe I’m extra tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Whatever’s going on, I better not work out today.”
Sometimes, waiting for my strength and stamina to magically return means I skip the first day, other times the whole first week (or more). Invariably, though, my memory does return, at least partially: “Oh, that’s right, I felt like death at the beginning last time too.” Great, there’s hurdle one cleared. I know this is going to suck, and I’ve resolved to get through it.
So, in my never ending brilliance, I decide to jump right back into the workout plan I finished up with last time, the one where I’m exercising hard, first thing in the morning, five days a week. By the third or fourth day of that week, I am somewhere well past exhausted, and can only summon the strength to stare angrily into the distance. Once again, I say to myself, “Something is wrong.”
This time, my initial tactic is self-loathing. “I was clearly able to push through this period of difficulty before. So why can’t I now? What’s wrong with me? Why am I such a wuss?” After a few fun-filled days of this inner monologue (exacerbated all the more by fatigue), I put together the second piece of the puzzle—not only did I not start out my last exercise regimen already in shape, but I didn’t start it out by working out every day either. I did easier workouts a couple days a week, and then worked my way up.
So what does any of this have to do with writing? After all, this blog is called “Nick Writes,” not “Nick Wonders If There Are Still Abs Under There.” Well, this all brings me to my biggest theory about writing: It’s got a lot in common with exercise.
That same overwhelmed, impossible feeling kicks in whenever I begin Week One of writing, except instead of cursing at the people giddily jumping around on my TV screen while I suck in air like a vacuum, I’m staring at a blank computer screen. Or an empty notebook page. Or even worse, I’m staring down at something I’ve written and seeing the huge divide between what I’m capable of right now, and what I actually want to create.
And just like I’ve had stellar workouts in the past, I’ve also had flashes of inspiration when it comes to writing, those times where fingers fly and sentences just keep appearing, each better than the last.
Excuse #1: That’s what writing should always feel like, right? I’ve done it before, so something must be wrong now.
Realization #1: No, no it takes practice. Okay then, let’s write for three hours each day!
Excuse #2: Oh no, I couldn’t even write for three hours once. I failed on the first day! I’ll never be a writer. I don’t have what it takes to do this.
That’s what Week One is like. Every. Damn. Time. I imagine it’s the same no matter what new path you set yourself on. And unfortunately, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to sticking with my writing. So this time around, I’m drawing on my experience with exercise. I’m trusting my theory that the gasping for air feeling of trying to come up with the next sentence, the next word, will give way to something that feels a bit healthier, a bit more sustainable.
And so far, it seems to be working. Since I’ve started this blog, I’ve gotten more consistent with my writing. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I am past Week One. I remembered what I always end up remembering eventually: that I can, in fact, only go through Week One. Try as I might, there’s no getting around it.
And I’m dying to know what the end of Year One feels like.