WHERE'S MY STAMINA AND MOTIVATION?

I've gotta get off of my fat ass.

I used to be a very active person.  I used to take martial arts (judo) classes a few times a week, and, though I was never very good, I kept pace with the men.  I used to be able to run on a treadmill, and I've even tried it outdoors.  I used to be able to weight lift a decent amount.  I used to have stamina and motivation.

Now, all I have is the strength for an occasional walk.

At work I don't have much chance for physical activity.  I guess walking around the classroom counts, right?  Walking back and forth to the copy room?  I have packed up boxes of books and lifted them around the room, so I guess that definitely counts -- except that the books need to be repacked into crates for the one-year move to the old high school while my school gets remodeled.  That makes double exercise, right?

The last three years of my life have basically been spent sitting on my fat ass in front of a computer while working on a Master's Degree that still has not officially been conferred.  My eating habits have been nothing short of bullshit -- I eat when the kiddos are around, but I graze when they're not.  I have eaten more meals standing up in the last three years than anyone I know, grabbing some nachos or a sandwich, and popping between the kitchen counter to dine informally and my den computer to work formally.

The result?  Eight damn yo-yo pounds; the paunch that keeps reappearing and disappearing and reappearing and disappearing...  My midsection is like a twist on a classic line from the movie Airplane:  "She's up; she's down; she's all over the place.  What an asshole!"

Every time I decide to exercise, I get sidetracked by hot flashes.  Yes, mid-life is a wonderful thing, and my Hot Flash Saga is for another day (I wish for another lifetime).  Who the hell wants to get sweaty when I'm already sweaty just thinking about getting sweaty?  Mother Nature can be a real tool sometimes.  And then there was that whole debacle with me running and running and running by the mailman over and over a few weeks ago.  Embarrassing.

The other morning I thought about walk-jog-running again, but it was almost noontime on Sunday, and I would've had to go by three churches.  I know people at those churches! I cannot subject people I know to such horror!  I thought about doing the neighborhood circuit earlier this evening, but the torrential rains had just ended, so that would mean wet feet and lots of mosquitoes.  Yeah, let's add insect welts to the look; that would be super-sexy.

I signed myself up for a 5k this summer.  It's going to be hot, and it's going to be different: there will be mud and an obstacle course.  I've done one other 5k which was just walking.  I can and do walk three miles without a problem.  When I go to Boston with my friend Sal, we walk seven or eight miles (but usually stop for a beer or two at some point).  I don't think I'm ready to go back to the gym (bores me out of my brain) nor the dojo (I'd break a hip at this point), but I have to do something... Hot flashes, be damned.

Whatever happens, I'm declaring it today -- out loud -- in print:  I've gotta get off of my fat ass, before my ass is too fat to get off of.