The Only Exercise I Wanna Do Is Hand To Mouth

Once again, I have avoided them all day.

They silently lay in the other room but I can feel their presence. Waiting for their cellophane to be ripped off, their hardcovers forced open, to be gently lifted from their center and slid, on their backs, into the waiting gap.

They have familiar names: Rodney Yee A.M Yoga workout. Billy Banks Fitness Boot camp. GAIAM P.M. Cardio Walking. Richard Simmons Dancing to ...whatever.

In my youth, I was not an exercise aficionado, but I always had a gym membership. Actually, it was a waste of time for I was able to maintain my weight by bobbing and weaving through people on the sidewalks during the day and furiously club dancing almost every night. If I was hungry, I had a cigarette (yes, they were good for something). If I couldn't fit into those tight jeans comfortably, I simply drank liquids for a week. Easy peasy.

During my twenties that is.

It's pretty amusing that at the time of your life when you need to exercise, keep it oiled and lubed so that your joints will continue to get you from a to b without incident - I simply have no desire to 'just do it'. At all. But your doctor and your health dictates it differently.

Due to guilt and the slight wheezing from climbing the subway steps, I rejoined the gym. The first couple of weeks went extremely well. They always do. Visions of Rocky Balboa jugging up those infamous steps in that horrific sweatsuit - that's me in way better clothing. Of the moment reusable water bottle. Hip scientific sneakers - I mean athletic footwear. Five pound hand weights so I can enter the 'gun' show.

Then I get bored with the repetition of being indoors. Would be more inspired to be inspired by Mother Nature. Aaaahhh. As usual, the first couple of weeks go well. Fast walking boot camp classes free to be me stretch classes in the park. Seeing all of the other women in their exercise gear, fancy water bottles. We give slight nods to each other. High five sisters, we are doing it for ourselves.

Like the bloom on any rose, this glow also wears off. Alarm goes off, hit the snooze button remain in bed. Repeat daily. Heeeyyy....since I love my bed, exercise would be made easier by simply rolling out of it directly into my exercise gear. Enter the Internet. I can get thin by using my computer. And combined with the food diary from the weight loss conglomerate it will be so easy that it's stupid.

Stupid is as stupid does. I pull a calf muscles, inflame my knee, dropped a weight on the top of my left foot, dropped the other one in the garbage. Finally, I simply started to use the computer to catch up on "Basketball Wives" before work. Surprise. 

The bitch of it is that I do feel better when I do work out. Lighter on my feet. Don't have to lay down to zip up my jeans. (score). The problem is there is no everlasting joy in it. And you're allowing your endorphins to rule if you think otherwise. Exercise is a necessary evil - period. I only do it to look good in my clothes, to be able to eat food that is 'bad' for me and to drink fruity cocktails with wild abandon. 

So until I am inspired to try something new (Zumba rumba here I come), I will continue to practice the best exercise I know: Lift fork to lips. Lift glass to mouth. But...I will be using my butt muscles to clutch my backless bar stool so I can stay erect. 

That counts for something, right? 

Fabulously Fourty(ish)

beingfourtyish.blogspot.com