I hate exercise
Just to be clear, when I say exercise, I mean going to the gym or taking an aerobics class or doing regular repetitive weight routines and keeping track of sets and reps on my scorecard. Think barbells, mats, mirrors, exercise equipment, circuit stations, drippy sweat, sticky seats, empty water bottles, and humid locker rooms.
I hate that kind of exercise.
Oh, it’s not for lack of trying. Over the years I’ve been an active member of Bali Fitness, Club Genesis, Planet Fitness, and the YMCA.
I’d pack up my little duffle bag complete with combination padlock, water bottle, shower stuff, change of clothing and shoes, and ear buds and music source (that’s changed over the years from a cassette players, to CD players, to ipods, etc…), and then I’d drive myself to the exercise joint of the day to do my thing.
The thing was, I felt stupid and out-of-place and fat and unfit (even in my skinny, fit years), sub-standard, and extremely self-conscious in those places. Naturally, I never stuck with it for long.
When the gym didn’t work, I ran.
And I loved running.
To be sure, I dreaded the first mile every single time I went out to run, but once I got that behind me, I felt strong and free. I loved the solitude and the cadence of my feet hitting the pavement, the soothing rhythm of my arm swing and easy, regular breathing. Running made me feel soooooo glad to be alive.
I ran regularly for over 10 years. Then knees and asthma and time and wear-and-tear on my joints made running less joyous. Life got crazy, I started working full time in a sedentary job, gained the mid-life spread, and left running behind. I physically couldn’t do it anymore.
Fast forward fifteen or so years.