I hate exercising. I really do. I also misspell exercising (“excercising”?) almost every time I type it, which I think is due to my body revolting against exercise at every opportunity. My fingers feel it coming and say, “No way. Eff that stupid son-of-a-bitch word. We’re gonna screw it up.” (My fingers are quite foul-mouthed little appendages.)
I also hate being fat. Well, okay, I’m not fat. Yet. But I am carrying around 15 pounds (yes, it’s more like 20 pounds. Leave me alone!) that I wasn’t carrying two years ago and it feels like the runway to fat. Like my body is just turning on the engine and plotting the course to Fatville. There’s a layover in Lazytown in the Chocolate Province, with final destination in IHateMyself-istan.
I can agree that nearly any woman born in the US has a tendency to have super wacky expectations for what her body should look like, but on the other hand, there’s a HUGE (Oops, pun. Oh well, I’m leaving it.) statistical likelihood that, if left to our own devices, we will become overweight. What kind of likelihood? According to NPR, 78% of adult women in the US will be overweight or obese by 2020. That number is 83% for men.
Holy bajolie! I don’t want to be in that majority! I want to be healthy and mobile and not at risk for diabetes, heart disease, gallstones, cancer, stroke, gout, arthritis, breathing problems and spontaneous combustion! (I might be wrong about that last one.)
So, what’s wrong with exercise, you ask? Everything! Screw you! (Sorry.) Ugh. I just hate it. First of all, I’ve always had a terrible cardiovascular system. I remember when we ran laps in grade school I felt like I was an asthmatic elephant stomping around our dirt track. I could hear my breathing echoing through my head and through the nearby trees. Birds jumped off their branches and looked at each other like, “What is wrong with that one?”A mother bird covered her little baby bird’s eyes.
Later in life I worked at a camp doing all kinds of outdoorsy stuff and I fancied myself a fit, active REI type. We camped out. We went on long hikes. We went rock climbing. On real rocks. Big ones. I bought a climbing harness, and had a helmet, and some climbing shoes. “On belay!” I’d say, like a nonchalant superhero, before mashing my fingers and body onto a slab of granite. Then I’d be like, “Uuuurrg! Aaarrg!” all groaning and scrambling and being super tough. (Fist pump!)
Then I realized that I hate basically all of those things. I prefer to move as little as possible, kinda all the time. And all those things are the opposite of that. REI is the mortal enemy of lazy people. It’s where active people go to plot their takeover of the world and buy gross tasting snack foods.
One time I saw some people walking early in the morning in these fun, black, cool looking outfits, and I thought maybe if I had an outfit like that I’d walk in the morning, too. So I bought an outfit and walked. Like, five times. Then I felt like my lungs were bleeding and decided I needed more quality time with my bed.
A few years later I put on my fancy outfit again to try “Couch to 5K” which is basically a program meant to get the uber-lazy running a 5K in 9 weeks. It’s a 30 minute or so combo of walking and jogging, and each week you add more jogging. I did week 1 for 6 months. On the podcast the guy said, “You should feel the efforts of your work, but not be tired or out of breath,” as I clasped my chest and heard my organs screaming, “No! God! Stop! Have you forgotten? We don’t do this!”
My best friend does P90X because she’s a badass and she can wrestle chupacabra with her Madonna-esque arms while doing burpees. She likes to exercise. It boggles my mind. Me? I do the “10 minute Fat-Blasting Dance Party” and fantasize about slapping that skinny instructor woman straight in the mouth if I ever see her in person. When my daughter was four months old, I propped her up on the floor next to me while I “exercised” and five minutes into it I pointed at her and said, “You…(gasp)…did…(wheeze)…this to me!!” Totally inappropriate.
How do you feel about exercising, citizens of the internet? Feel free to comment with your exercising secrets (though I can’t guarantee that I won’t scoff, eat a doughnut, point and the screen condescendingly and say, “No, Brenda, I won’t be doing that.”).