The circuit beeps to an end in my right ear. 30 seconds to rest and then it’s back on for another 90. I open my mouth and try to breathe in as much oxygen as I can. My nostrils too attempt to snatch whatever air they can hoard.

Can I stop now?

The question that tires me out more than the workout itself. A part of me that still didn’t get the memo calls out again and again.

Can I stop now?

It says it lazily without any hint of exhaustion. It’s a different kind of giving up. I learned to tell difference between a genuine need for rest and a commitment to giving up. This voice was coming from the depth of latter. A part of me that is weirded out by me trying so hard. The part that is content to burrow in to my comfort zone and never leave.

Can we stop now?

It asks with every step. The longer I try to finish the circuit, the louder it growls. At round 10, I saw my feet slow to a stop and my body follow suit. I felt it in my bones then. The commitment to giving up. Like a habit, it seized control and I gave up.

Ah yes. Now let’s enjoy the rest of the walk.

I had to do something. This can not be my life. I cannot allow my life to be dictated by this. So I turned on my microphone and decided to talk to myself.