I deeply admire those who exercise that superhuman molecule of discipline that forces them from their cozy beds at the crack of dawn to run five miles. That requires a true inbred discipline that leaves me breathless. I'll be honest--the only catalyst that would immediately rouse me into immediate action in the gathering dawn of a day is someone lying next to me with a hard-on. Seriously.
The other stuff is more difficult. I have to force this hedonistic lump that I call my body upright in order to maintain any kind of ritual. I always feel the better for it after the fact, but to take the first step requires a superhuman effort on my part. Hollaback can vouch for this. When she was my roommate, she and I started a "Couch to 5K" running program three times a week. When the prescribed alarm would go off, she would be up and robed in her running gear, warmed up, ready to go. I would be slogging from the bedroom, bitching a blue streak, disheveled and grumpy. So what was the catalyst that dragged my lazy ass from bed? I didn't want to let her down.
Now that she's in her new home, Hollaback's running multiple times a week, covering miles and preparing to run a 5K race in a few weeks. Me? I'm still running the program but not with the effective outcome Hollaback is experiencing. I wheeze. I stop sometimes after 10 minutes to catch my breath because the humid urine scented air of Riverside Park is overwhelming. I'm trying to establish a routine, but let's face it people. I am no Hollaback. She'll be doing triathlons before I get to the running 5K plan without stopping. She has discipline which I admire in spades.
My friend Norma has uber-discipline. She is older than me (but God, please don't tell anyone or I will have to kill you), but she looks years younger. She runs, power lifts and works out with the discipline of a Mr. Universe. She also does this with two children and as the CEO of a multinational media company. She has the physique of Madonna (only leaner). As a woman, I should hate her for her freaking perfection, but the truth is I really like and admire her as a person. What it comes down to is: I will never have Norma's kind of discipline. She's encouraged my paltry efforts and genuinely, but the sad truth is that I will never have biceps like hers. This is where I weep openly with that "Life is not fair" bit.
I do try to engage in something physical every day. I wish it was sex (that would be easy, no?) but of course it's not. I do have a passion for the martial arts classes I try to squeeze in a few times a week but my schedule (and not lazy ass excuses) tend to be the problem here. I'm still trying to find a way to get more hours in to take more classes. I would take grappling classes every day if could. But alas, that's not an option.
The truth of the matter is that the only discipline that I exercise freely and unforced is work. I like to get up early and go to work. I like to work. I like to be at work. It energizes me. It inspires me. It puts a fire under me. And around 6 pm I start thinking, I guess I better go home now so I can run or something.
Back to square one.
5 comments:
So I am not the only one. My sister, God Bless her, gets up every morning before the crack of dawn, reads her Bible scripture for the day and goes to the gym(which is about 10 miles away). She spends an hour or longer there only to drive home, shower and get ready for work...all of this is done before 6:00am. When I visit her, I tell her to wake me up and I'll go too, but I can't drag my lazy, fat ass out of bed at that ungodly hour. I really admire her. Soon I will make my transition to NC where I will live in an apartment that has a nice fitness center. Hopefully I will be getting up to work out, that is unless my bed partner has a hard on.
Oh, please. My butt is so lazy that even if my bed partner does have a hard on in the morning, I just roll over and say, "leave me alone! I'm sleeping here!"
For a brief, shining moment from mid-May through early July, I got up daily at 5:00 for a 45 minute walk. Then I went on vacation and haven't done it again since.
And now, I am struggling with trying to get into some sort of routine again. I hate being at that gym while my family is home relaxing, knowing that I still have to make dinner, clean up after dinner, do laundry, etc. For a year or so I did really well, planning meals ahead with lots of casseroles and crockpot meals, but I made myself crazy exhausted.
I could just blame myself, but I will give some of the blame to my girlfriend who used to go to the gym with me. She went and got knocked up and quit the gym. Grrrr.
In a few weeks they will start up the lunchtime Pilates class here at work again twice a week. At least I will feel slightly less like a big lump then!
I don't work out and I don't care!
I used to, but I never got that rush of endorphins you hear about. I went to the gym pissed off about it and left pissed off (and sweaty).
I try to work it into my day. I park far out in the parking lot, run up and down the stairs at home instead of walking, you know, crap like that.
I don't have abs of steel, but I'm happier.
Sometimes I walk, sometimes I swim. Exercise sucks as far as I'm concerned, but I do love the way I feel after a really long walk. Sex is the best form of exercise, of course, and you're definitely happier afterwards!
Sex is the best, agreed, but a close second (especially as I am not getting much sex these days) is kickboxing. I totally dig it. I have been able to pair with men lately and they bring their game 100% to the sparring; for me, that feels exhilirating. And hardly like exercise at all.
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