Do It Tired.

Once we started talking about moving, we started joking about joining a run club as a way to meet new people—but as time went on, it became less and less of a joke. Were we really “run club people?” A run club just felt too yuppy. But I guess we are.

I’m not against running—far from it—but running is basically something I’ve always done by myself. Yet here we are, in a new city, and a run club is an easy way to meet other reasonably fit people. Eventually, it started sounding good.

Often, I don’t want to do something social, but when I go, I end up having fun. It’s stupid, but this has been a key realization for me over the past few years. I still think of myself as an introvert (whatever that means); I enjoy just hanging out around my apartment, or in a casual setting like a cafe; I look forward to the days I can just “do nothing” in my own way—but it’s good to be social, too. With moving, it was almost the perfect excuse to just go do stuff. I see an event that appeals to me, and I try to go.

Okay, I'm tired. So what?

After moving, as I tried to find a time to go to the run club (it meets once a week), I tended to always find an excuse. It’s raining tonight. This week, I’d have to go alone. It’s so late; would I need to eat dinner separately before? How late would I be out? Isn’t it bad to exercise late at night? There’s always a lot of excuses I can come up with to not go. The secret is just doing it anyways.

This week, I finally went. I went alone, but even so, I met people, and had fun. I knew no one there, but I fell into it right away. I’ve been trying to make more Japanese friends, and I met a few new people last night, both Japanese people and other foreigners. The previous weekend, I went to another photo event (Tokyo seems to be an endless fount of these) and made another friend. There’s really only one way to do this: by putting yourself out there. Had I listened to all my excuses, some of which were even good, I’d still be sitting and waiting for something to change. But most change comes from within, with intent.

I felt this when I started going to the gym more seriously, too. Most of the time, I had a lot of fun, but there were plenty of days where the prospect of going to spend an hour at the gym after a full workday didn’t exactly sound great. I'm tired. But soon, it became essential for me to go those days, almost because I didn’t want to—as if in spite of myself. Okay, I'm tired. So what?

I'm a big advocate for good sleep. Since getting a sleep tracker I've been way more conscious about those sorts of metrics, and I believe it's made me overall healthier. But a number on a screen doesn't change the way you live your life. I generally sleep well, exercise well, eat well. If I sleep poorly for a night, I try and get to bed a little earlier the next one. But we're resilient creatures.

With moving, it was almost the perfect excuse to just go do stuff. I see an event that appeals to me, and I try to go.

It was the same thing with writing. I told myself for years that there was something lacking in my approach, that once I read and analyzed this next novel, this craft book, went to this talk or did this course, or freed up some other aspect of my life, I’d have everything I needed to finally—truly—write. It never worked. What I needed was to do the work, because I didn’t want to; because I felt unprepared. What prepares you to do the work is doing it.

After the run, I felt good. So good that I got off the train at a stop early just to run the last couple of kilometers home (with my iPod, of course). It was well-past sunset when I was working out, an extreme rarity for me. I showered late, ate late, and went to sleep late. Sure enough, I didn’t sleep perfectly. Was it ideal? No. But I was up around six the next morning to go to the gym—even though I was tired.