My brain gets a workout each and every day; my body, well, not so much. I have always loathed physical exercise. I don’t mind long walks—although they take too much time, of which I am alarmingly short. I love horseback riding but, alas, no longer have horses (that time thing, again). I know that I need regular exercise.
To that end, I fixed up my little screened porch off my bedroom with a treadmill (MIL’s—traded for my stationary bike) and even put cable television out there to keep my mind occupied while I walked. This was in June. Do you think I’ve been out there? Even once? No. I am utterly incapable of being in charge of my own exercise regime.
That’s where my son comes in. He has cracked the whip at me once again. Yesterday I went back to the YMCA after work. It had been long months—too long—since I had been there. Son was determined. He called at the office to remind me. So I trudged over there.
I did my time on the treadmill and then moved through the upper-body machines. I worked up quite a sweat in 45 minutes or so and left feeling slightly more virtuous than when I arrived at the gym. What I know is that eventually I will feel so much better for this. Why is it that I resist so? Hmmmmm…how ‘bout “laziness?”
Anyway, I am determined to stick with this and exercise at least three times a week. It is so very easy for me to tell myself that I don’t have the time. But, then, I can always fill time with work, which is never caught up.
And, in thinking of exercise, I find myself looking forward to autumn and even winter for brisk walks down my long driveway and my country road with my two dogs by my side. It has been triple digit weather here for over a week, way too hot for any kind of outside exercise. A fall nip in the air will be inviting for exercise, I’m thinking. And the enemy of that regime will, once again, be time…must steel myself now for that. C.