Exercise and I have had an on again off again relationship ever since I learned the definition of the word chubby. A few months ago, I made a commitment to finally make it an actual habit. While I thought that’s what I’ve been doing since October, upon closer inspection, I realize the definition of exercise I’ve been using is a little too broad. (Like me bum.)
What I’m saying is, either my house is haunted by the ghosts of tailors who sneak in my drawers at night and alter my pants to make them smaller, or the exercise I’ve been doing hasn’t exactly been working. While I’m not completely ready to discount the ghost/tailor explanation, I decided to up my game a little.
Since self-motivation is not exactly at the top of my positive attribute list, it became obvious (i.e. pants cutting off circulation to vital organs) I needed help. So, I joined a gym. The last time I belonged to a gym, I managed to coast along in my self-delusion that I would exercise on my own and be successful. That didn’t exactly work out.
This time, I got a copy of my new gym’s class schedule and picked one for each day. It turns out, being trapped in an hour long class with women who are skinnier and bouncier than I am is a powerful motivator. Their very presence shames me into pushing myself harder. (I kind of hate them, actually.)
When I leave these classes, I’m red faced, dripping with sweat, chugging water, and in general ready to collapse from exhaustion. Which is to say, I look like I am actually exercising. Or having a heart attack... but, so far so good.
I also joined this particular gym because it has a pool. After seeing my daughter do swim team for the past few years, I’ve been dying to swim laps myself. Let’s just say I have a newfound appreciation for what my nine year old girl is capable of...
Three quarters into MY FIRST LAP my limbs staged a revolution. Above the din of the splashing I could hear them wail, “are you freaking kidding me?!” and then they just stopped moving altogether. Luckily my body composition is conducive to floating or I’d have dropped to the bottom of that pool like a rock. I’m going to have to work up to swimming a lap, let alone many laps.
So, I’ve committed to a year at this gym with the hope that I'll make actual exercise a habit. I’m going to give it a couple of months on my own (taking classes, swimming lap(...s)) and if I don’t see results, I’m hiring a trainer. The plan is to get healthy or die and/or go broke trying. And if I still can’t fit into my pants this time next year, I’m calling Ghost Hunters.
I like to throw things.