I zone out while I’m jogging on the treadmill (or treading on the jogmill), and come up with a ridiculous idea for a blog post, such as a parody of the TV show The Office where all the characters are renamed stupid stuff like Slim Halpern (no… wait… make that “Heartburn”) or Diet Schroot.
Then I spend an hour or so jotting down ideas, funny snips of dialog (“That’s what she ate…”) and some kind of outline for a little story. I also spend a little time trying to figure out a way to shoehorn a tiny amount of actual relevant health information into it somewhere.
Then I spend a couple of hours turning all these pieces into a blog post. I spend a lot of nights sitting in my TV room (“The Spicy Crib”) with a laptop in my lap writing and rewriting. I’ve convinced myself I’m multitasking, hanging out with my daughter Pisa and blogging, but what I’m doing is spending a lot of time on my ass, my heart rate at a bare minimum.
Don’t get me wrong: I love putting together these posts. And on some level, they do help keep me focused on what I’m doing.
But on another level, I’m coming to the realization that I’m spending more and more time on blogging than on what I’m really blogging about (“getting fit”).
I spiked my “Orifice” post and wrote this in 15 minutes.
Now I’m about to hop on the elliptical for the kind of workout that always leaves me hot, sweaty and satisfied.
I know, I know… that’s what she said.
