Let’s talk about my “real” life for a little while, you know the place where I have a body and am not this disembodied figure head. Weird. Anyhoo, What I want to talk about is exercising and how I’m terrified of the commitment. Let’s be real, exercise is a deeper, scarier, more serious commitment than marriage. It’s one I just can’t seem to get over, mentally. It frightens me. I want to, I really do, but I fail.
So…for some reason I always seem to be able to get into a really good groove with exercise and then something screws it up. So here’s me, I’m working out 3 times per week, I’m so good that I feel colossally guilty if I miss a day and things are going just fine. Then LIFE, that beotch, gets in the way and I stop. Like that time I was running for 8 months and then suddenly I felt that teeny tiny pain in my knee and a week later I was a cripple who could no longer even walk because both knees were swollen and extremely painful. Awesome. Working out was not happening for at least 2 months and then very slowly after that.
And I’m stubborn so I refused to see a doctor, because why? They were just going to tell me to ice it, elevate, IB Prof and use ace bandages and I was already doing that. However the cause of said problems were still a mystery. It took finally seeing a doc with a foot fetish to tell me what was wrong. There I am in the office of the sports medicine guy with a KNEE problem and he’s like, take off your shoes, I need to see your feet. I was like…whaaa!? You creepy bastard! Turns out, the problem was the old feet and specifically the ARCHES. Damn those arches! All they do is collapse which is the opposite of what an arch is supposed to do. So problem solved, special shoes. However I still couldn’t get back into the exercise groove for a while.
Then later I did, I was serious, I had a personal trainer and everything! I was a CHAMPION!! But then…oh yeah…genius decides to build her own house which requires a 7 day a week commitment and so exercise is kaput, again and fatness looms. I was struggling to even find time to clean my house, that dirty pig-sty.
So exercise fail. I guess the thing that occurred to me is that exercise is too much of a commitment. Picture this: So in order to stay in shape you have to exercise at least 3 times per week, if not more. You have to do cardio and weight training. Your muscles will scream at you! SCREAM!! But then, oh heaven, what if you have to take a few days off? You will LOSE ALL YOUR PROGRESS and turn back into a huge pile of dog shit.
It’s not like you can work out once or reach a certain level, stop and yet stay in shape. Exercise is really a very very needy thing. If it was a relationship you would RUN away! I need you, I need you! Work out! Work out! Don’t stop! It’s like once I’m in it, the momentum is kind of scary. Like I can’t stop the ride. I must go forward. The idea of stopping is insane scary!
It’s like there’s a gun to my head. If you stop, all the sweat and tears will be for NOTHING!! You little….pussy! (my vagina is offended by this statement, but I’m telling her to shut up but she keeps reminding me of what Betty White says. Betty is 100% correct). Anyway, Exercise says: Keep going! So this frightens me. The neediness, the amount of time it consumes, how the more you work out and the more in shape you are, the more time must be spent. It eats your life for breakfast!
The other thing is, why is it so easy to say before a workout that you’re going to push it. Yeah…yeah…I’m gonna push it this time! I’m gonna be a rockstar, go further, harder, faster! YEA!! And then once you’re doing it and dying, you’re like..okay, over it. I want to go back to being a pile. That’s what my husband calls us. Piles. As in Piles of Shit.
So, for the past few months, since fall I haven’t really been working out much. I’ve been a massive pile and I’ve felt like hell. Tired, cranky, bitchy. Everything. The few times I did try to stick with working out for a few weeks, I felt AMAZING. But then I’d just get tired again. Boo. Then spring time was coming and I thought, I need to get hot for summer. So I proposed an idea to the hubs that we should get “sexy for summer.” (Workout video coming soon. HA) I informed him that we used to be sleek and fast like race cars and now we’re fat and dumpy and slow like….whatever, maybe a minivan…a 1992 dodge caravan. And I kept seeing photos of us, younger where we were hotness! All trim and lean, the angles of the face, aerodynamic! We were cutting through time and space with our cheekbones and our clavicles! We were like a G6, NO…we were a G6, that’s how hot we were. Poppin bottles in the… SHUT up.
He was fighting it big time at first, because hey, being lazy is pretty awesome but then he tried working out and was like, oh yeah, I’m a pile, I can’t even move my ass (however, his ass moves much faster than mine, see below). And I reminded him that we only have so many summers left to be sexy. Pretty soon it’s gonna be all over and we will be truly old! NOOO!!!!!
So we bought a workout bench and we’ve been trail running behind our house. The problem for me with running with the hubs is that he used to be a track/cross country runner in the olden days and so he still somehow, even as a huge pile, can kick my ass. Even if I work out and he doesn’t and we go for a run, he kicks my ass. It’s lame. So we’re running on trails and he’s up ahead leaving me in the dust. It doesn’t help that he has much longer legs than mine. And I’m all panting and dying and my legs are heavy and he’s like a goddamned gazelle, bounding ahead with effortless strength.
Later he’ll feel bad for me and run back to run with me again and I’m like, I HATE YOU!!! And he’s like, why? All innocent like. Jerk! As if he doesn’t know why. And I’m like, I’m dying here buddy, DYING!! And he’s like, me too! And I look at him and he’s not even breathing hard! He’s just loping along, so slow because of how slow I am. He could honestly walk faster. It looks ridiculous. RIDIC!! And then I’m like, I hate running with you. And he’s like, someone’s got to push you. You can do it! I’m like…no, this hill is too big, I’m going to stop because even walking will cause me to keel over. And then, he’s like, running with you makes me want to have sex with you. MEN!!!
I tell him before every run that I’m not allowing him to boss me. He’s like, what does that mean? But he does, he BOSSES me around. No one bosses me and lives to tell. Just ask my parents. Don’t boss me. So, exercise: I love you, I hate you, but even you try to boss me. You refuse to accept breaks of any kind. I’m almost afraid to agree to “date” exercise. It’s the abuse, both mental and physical and because exercise is very very jealous. You don’t take breaks or get personal space from exercise because if you do..you will pay! You will pay by being an out of shape slob and you will lose your G6 status. No more sleek aerodynamics for you!
The thing is..I think I’m commitment phobic. Like I never make plans ahead of time because I don’t know if I’ll feel like doing whatever it is when the day comes. The same thing with exercise. It could honestly be a LIFELONG commitment. Every other day for years and years and years until you DIE. That’s just scary. There’s really nothing I want to do that much. Except maybe writing. But writing, screw it, I don’t commit! I just do it when I want to and then other days I tell my blog to take a hike and I tell my novel to cry about it cause I’m just not that into you! I wish exercise was the same, but once you’ve reached a certain “level” of body perfection you cannot STOPPPPP!!!! THE HUMANITY!!! So right now, I’m not committed and I’m a pile and working out hurts because I do it when I wanna, which is how I operate. I do what I want, when I wanna do it! Don’t mess with me. Screw you exercise! *SOB* I’m such a pile!!! I want to be sleek and sexy not a 1992 Dodge caravan!