There's a weird line between the unconscious and the conscious. It was really hard to get out of bed this morning -- physically. It's hard to lift my left leg and my body just wants to lie down all day (preferably in the sun). And to get up and then go on a five mile hike? It seemed insane but do-able. My legs were fine halfway through the hike, and then I just hit a wall.
Now, under ordinary circumstances, I could walk all day. Like yesterday, jumping headfirst into Fitness Ridge was difficult but do-able, so walking 9 miles didn't seem like *that* big a deal -- until last night, when my left leg decided to give me a piece of its mind and tell me what's up. Today, I did half the hike unconsciously -- my body knew it was walking, so I walked. But halfway through? My body said stop. So I had to switch into manual mode and consciously tell my legs to keep going. Like, literally, I had to think to myself: Okay Danica, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. And I had to keep saying it and reminding my body to move.
It's not fun, and it's not pretty. My steps got shorter as my legs became more and more reluctant to go. Every movement today is a conscious chore -- sitting down, getting up, putting on a sweatshirt, walking across campus to lunch. But if I don't tell myself to do it, I'd just sit here, rotting away in my room. And what good is that?