So yesterday I was talking about going to the gym and about how gym-going is not my favorite pastime. I do, however, recognize the need for such activity with its subsequent health benefits. I would venture to say, however, that one must work out more than once a week to see any real health benefit. Unfortunately, walking the 30 feet from my car to the office in the morning – and back again every evening – doesn’t really count as actual “exercise.”
Several years ago I joined the gym and became dedicated to working out. I felt great and even looked forward to going. Well, sorta. But once I was in the mode of going to the gym 3-4 days a week, it became a habit. There were even days I was able to drag myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning to get to the gym by 6AM. After my workout, I’d shower and then head to work to start my day. I liked it, particularly since there weren’t too many people at the gym at 6 o’clock in the morning and I had my pick of treadmills. Plus, I felt good all day.
Working out in the evening was a little tougher, but I almost always felt better afterwards even if I had to drag myself over there mentally kicking and screaming. I’d console myself by saying that I “only” had to do 20 minutes of cardio if I was too tired. But by the time I was into it for 20 minutes, I felt energized enough to keep on going.
Lately I’ve been trying to get back into the more-than-once-a-week workout. How’s that working for me, you ask? Um…slow. Being newly married does make it a little tougher to set my own schedule and revise it on a whim. I need to be considerate of my husband, particularly if he’s at home cooking us dinner. There aren’t many times I’d choose a workout over Vince’s sizzling-on-the-grill flatiron steaks!
It was definitely easier to exercise as a kid. When we were young, we simply “played” outside and didn’t even realize we were exercising. Climbing trees and Hula Hooping and racing up and down the street and riding our bikes all over town were just plain fun.
Turning 16 and managing to snag my driver’s license didn’t really change anything. No one was standing around eagerly waiting to hand me a key to my very own car. So hoofing it around town remained the norm unless I could convince my parents that borrowing their car was imperative. (There was, by the way, really no imperative reason. If bleeding was involved, my parents were happy to drive the wounded to the Emergency Room.)
Sometimes I wish we could get back to those carefree days of our youth, but then I remember stuff like Geometry homework. And having to rely on a chintzy allowance. And being forced to eat liver and onions because "it's good for you, missy, and you'll like it...or else." So I think I’ll stick to the present. Besides, I have my very own car now, thank you very much, and I wouldn’t want to revert to hoofing it. Columbus is way bigger than my old hometown.
And I’m happy to report that Vince and I went for a walk last night, even though I was mentally kicking and screaming the whole way. And, yes, I did feel better afterwards.
Ooh. Looks like I managed to move it up to a twice-a-week workout. Anyone up for three – maybe do a little Hula Hooping? (Mental kicking and screaming optional.)
PS. Oh, and as a grown-up, I haven't eaten liver and onions even once. Yay. It's good to be an adult.