Exercise. Feels good
when I'm doing it, feels even better when I'm done, and feels awesome when I
don't have to do it at all.
I'm not in terrible shape.
I've always been reasonably active, and I don't mind building up a
decent sweat as long as it's not when I'm dressed to the nines attending some
social event or at work in front of the students. Next year my classroom will have no windows
due to the construction, so I'm truly wondering how I'm supposed to handle that
when the little cherubs arrive directly from gym class. I have already checked into Lysol and
Fabreeze at bulk. Between their sweat
and my sweat, we're going to stink until winter sets in.
Damn. I'm off topic again. Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Exercise. Seriously, though, once I get motivated, I'm
really all about the movement.
It's the getting
motivated part I seem to have trouble with lately.
When I used to go to judo classes, it was easy to stay
motivated because the boys had class first then I had class. I was already there, so why not. Before I tried judo (which I wasn't very good
at, but I really liked attempting it), I took cardio-kickboxing in one room
while the boys took judo classes in the next room, so that was perfect. I got to hit things, sometimes even things
that looked like people, sometimes the instructors would let me give the
human-like bag (whose official name is Bob) other names (like Tammy or … Bob …)
to really make me happy.
My daughter was not a judoka; she was a gymnast. I had been a gymnast for a few years, not a
very good gymnast, but after a bad accident involving a mini-trampoline and a
concrete wall, I decided that sport wasn't for me, so I stuck to the
full-contact stuff. That probably
explains why I gave up soccer and basketball, too -- I couldn't legally rip the
face off my opponents when they pissed me off, which happened with frightening
regularity. In judo I never minded getting thrown around or choked, and I
wasn't even that offended when Dan went in wrong for o goshi and broke my foot
in three places. Judo is generally a
very safe sport for coordinated people, one of whom I am not.
But it's tough to get myself psyched up for this solitary
exercising shit. I mean, let's be honest
here: It's frikkin' boring. When I go to
the gym alone, I have a routine, I don't mind being in the weight room (note to
men: take the 100-pound weights OFF the Smith Machine so little people like me
can use it, too), but running on the treadmill is boring as all
hell. I'm lucky if I can make ten
minutes before I'm ready to jump out of my own skin.
Today my daughter comes to the gym with me. She is trying out a new exercise program, and
I am just overjoyed to have some company, even though she's mostly plugged into
her headphones for instructions to help her with the new routine. I am impressed with her progress. She's working a new interval routine to get
herself running. While she works away, I
stay on the treadmill next to her.
Thanks to her, I run 1.25 miles and walk another .75, and I don't even
notice the time I've spent. Then we go
to pilates, and my feet only seize up twice during class. Not bad for two people who haven't really
been near the gym since the spring semester started and we both found ourselves
knee-deep in college course work.
I come home with a salad and half a tuna sandwich. The salad gets eaten immediately; the tuna
will be tomorrow's lunch. And yes, I go
for an ice cold beer and a handful of Cheezits after the salad, you know, to
wash down all that roughage and stuff.
So much for the exercising.
Wait a sec, though.
Now that I think about it and after that beer bottle is rinsed out, I
have to admit that I really do feel
better. Hey, who knew? Exercising truly does have some
benefits. Maybe I'll exercise tomorrow,
too, and maybe even two more days after that.
I mean, there are still three beers left in the fridge, you know.
Hmmmm. This may be an
exercise routine I can live with, after all.
Salud (not salad), everybody!
