Motivational Speaking

"I need motivation hun," said my pal Karen (Pulley) earlier, talking about getting back to an exercise regime.
"How about this," I said. "Leo [her young son] is gonna have a poorly mam if ya don't do something."

It's a statement of frankly stunning callousness, for which I can only apologise, really. Especially when you consider my own recent motivation-sink.

Motivation's a strange thing, and no mistake. Cold, hard facts rarely do it on their own, in my limited experience. After all, I was hugely overweight for years, and knowing that, and knowing the effect the weight was having on my body, on my organs and systems and life expectancy, utterly failed to make an impact on me. People could have told me the horrors of heart disease, of liver failure, of gangrene and stroke, and I would have nodded gravely, frowned meaningfully, escaped happily and gone for a Mars Bar and a Chinese.

The moment of motivation for me wasn't even really the tachycardic moment. I had my fake heart attack in October 2010, but I didn't start this Disappearing lark until 1st March 2011. Really, it was coming face to face with my qualification for surgery that forced me to identify whether that path best described my own view of myself, or whether this other path, the path of bastarn subbornness, was more like the version of me in which I had to believe. I decided to take the path of bastard stubbornness, and really it was that self-image that motivated me - that, and the impetus it gave to all the other things: the chance to live longer with my wife, the chance to live a different life, a more active life, a less unwell life. The path of bastard stubbornness was the impetus, and then, all those things that had been apparent to me all along pretty much came to life, dripped from drab facts to vital, colourful realities, like the page of a magic colouring book, where you paint with fresh water, and the images show through in multiple, appropriate shades.

So my comment to Karen was far more callous than I'd like to think I generally am - because I know that facts don't motivate people. Only self-image seems to do that.

This also matters to me ath the moment because of course, at this point, I'm in a bit of a motivation-lull - or have been, rather; the impact of Titanic is still pushing me on to a new determination. But the idea of not any longer needing to be a stubborn bastard, of probably adding years to my life by what I've done already, has certainly played into my motivation-sink recently. I guess this is the idea of having laurels to rest on. Everybody I meet at this point tells me how well I've done - past tense - as though it's enough, as though the experiment is over. I think what I actually need at this point, from other people, to go with my rediscovered determination, is an acknowledgement of essentially starting again - of the idea that it's helpful to say I haven't lost 5.5 stone, but that I'm (for the sake of argument), four stone overweight at this re-beginning point. I should stop thinking of what's gone before, and just think that I'm four stone overweight - Hell, that's plenty overweight for most people, so let's just think of it that way.

"Ohhh yeah," said my pal Rebecca by Instant Message. "You've got to really step up the game to shift those last few stones - everyone says that."

So here's to stepping up the game, for the sake of bastard stubbornness and self-image, and every good thing that comes with them. And here's to whatever it is that motivates you to change your stars, your life and the lives of those around you.