Exercise Hostage Crisis

By: Barbara Lishko

I know full well that I am supposed to be exercising on a regular basis. I’ve heard all of the arguments in favor of why one should be dutiful to the cause and yet; time after time I let my brain hold my backside hostage. It takes very little effort really. My brain doesn’t even have to work up a sweat. Convincing my body to remain out of the gym, off the bike, and gleefully distracted doing anything else, is a simple matter.

I am not a sedentary soul. It is not uncommon for me to work long hours, paint my house, throw a party and re-sod the yard in one weekend. I have also been told that I walk at an expeditious pace where ever I go.  It’s just the whole getting up early thing, going to where a “hundred other sweaty bodies have gone before” that really turns me off. The other really big obstacle is, I don’t own any cutesy, color coordinated, logo infested gym wear and I know that I simply wouldn’t be accepted without them.

No, if I do get this bag of bones on the move, it is usually outside for  “walkies.” In the purest sense of the word “walk,” it’s not, and frankly I try not to run after anything that isn’t chocolate.

As far as the weather goes, it can’t be too hot, or too cold. It can’t threaten to rain for at least a week and I don’t “do darkness.”  If even the slightest possible obstacle comes up on my radar screen as I contemplate the possibility of considering walking, then I simply can’t go.  Yes, I would rather disassemble the trampoline on a summer day in Phoenix, than to exercise.

A couple of years ago, during a particularly pathetic moment, I signed up for one of those exercise  “boot camps.” My youngest daughter signed up with me so we could be there for eachother at 4:30am when the alarm goes off.  If I hadn’t of laid out the money already, that exercise into insanity would have ended long before it ever started. 

On the first morning we arrived at a dark, cold, park and started off by running up and down the hills.  This was followed by power lunges through the sand volleyball courts and then running bases over in the ball field.  I starred up at the stars as they twinkled down on me.  My body screamed at my mind begging for a reason to whatever possessed me to do this to myself. Our drill sergeant barked out, “sprint faster” which I found rather humorous at the time, being that I hadn’t even worked up to a fast jog.

Day two involved weights, and I don’t mean the poundage that I carry around on a regular basis.  I thought I would just bring the three-pound weights I had at home, so as not too overly exert myself too soon.  Factoring in the layer of dust, I bet they weighed closer to five pounds each.  Once the P.D.S. (perky drill sergeant) got a look at them she marched right out to her car trunk where she just so happened to have an entire gym worth of weights. Who the heck carries that much weight in their trunk?  She insisted I use hers instead. 

At six-fifteen a.m. we would arrive back home. I would sit there contemplating whether to crawl back in my bed or just sleep there in the car. The imprint of the steering wheel on my face usually disappeared by lunchtime most days.

The third day I didn’t have to convince my brain of anything, my body did it for me in the form of a deep cough and chest cold.  There was no way I was going out into the darkness sounding like some kind of maimed hippo in the throws of labor.  The neighbors surely would have called animal control to put the creature out of its misery.  My daughter went on without me.  Good for her I thought, mommy only slows you down.

I remember emailing the instructor apologizing for being M.I.A. due to my bout with the “black lung.”  I explained that I didn’t know when I could possibly get back to class. 

Her kind reply was so touching, she offered to let me make up all the classes I missed. Wow, you just don’t get that kind of concern or value for your dollar anywhere these days.

Thanks…but no thanks. It’s been ten years and I’m pretty sure I’m not going back to make up those classes.

Stay healthy in whatever way floats your boat and suits you.

Published by pouredmyselfoutingift

Catholic, wife, mother, and grandmother. Ministering to those preparing for marriage and struggling within them. Cooker, baker, and dessert maker. Passionate, giving, action-orientated, dedicated to marriage and family and sharing the Good News.

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