I was still awake at half twelve on Friday night.

Which meant six hours' sleep if I was lucky, which meant getting up somewhere near seven.

I'm training for an ultra at the moment, so weekends mean long blocks. Three, four, five hours out on the trail in one sitting.

Saturday's block needed to start early, because I've got responsibilities from half ten onward that don't move for training.

I didn't get the full session in. And for about ten seconds, my brain reached for the easy explanation.

Blame the responsibilities.
Blame the schedule.
Blame the fact that Saturday morning simply isn't big enough to hold everything I wanted from it.

None of that was true. Nobody kept me up until half twelve.

I did that.

The training didn't get cut short because of my responsibilities. It got cut short because of a decision I made the night before, and I very nearly spent the morning being annoyed at everyone except the person who made it.

Someone gave me an analogy years ago that I still come back to.

When you point your finger at someone else, look at your hand while you're doing it.

One finger's pointing out. Three are curled back, pointing at you. Every time you find someone else to blame, there’s three times the blame sitting closer to home than you wanted to look.

A year or two back, I'd have spent the whole of Saturday morning irritated at my schedule, at the responsibilities that "stole" my training. This time it took ten seconds. I did half the session, took the lesson, and made a note to get to bed on time next Friday.

That's the whole shift, really.

Not that the finger stops pointing. Just that you catch it faster, and you look at your hand sooner.

Next time you catch yourself pointing, have a look at your hand.

Chances are the person who made the decision is holding it.

Paul