Imagine four-hundred yard sprints while dragging a cold, damp parachute. Imagine doing it twice. Then imagine running that while you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I ran much slower than I would had liked this morning. My mind was a parking brake holding me back. I worked hard to bring my focus back to the field. Each session was a struggle.
I do the Paul Lacoste workout three 12-week sessions a year. It is intense, tough and very early in the morning. My old body does things that it doesn’t particularly enjoy doing. I sweat like a fire hydrant and hurt like I’ve been hit by a Louisville Slugger. Usually by this point in the session, I’m physically exhausted.
But I keep after it. I push and keep pushing. I don’t quit.
From 5 a.m. until 6 a.m., I am allowed to take all my problems, lay them out on the football field and beat the hell out of them. My heart races. My brain heals. It’s my therapy. It keeps me sane.
Sure, I am in great physical shape. But right now, I need the mental part of my training more than ever. I need my hour of discipline every morning.
I am getting stronger in mind, body and spirit.
And I refuse to quit.