I undertook my monthly visit to the gym today, part of my regular exercise schedule. See I love nothing more than to get all enthused, go crazy on every machine and piece of equipment possible, feel elated, and then wake up the next morning unable to move. This then leads to days of wincing when walking, climbing stairs, breathing. So I swear off such a ridiculous idea. Until the mood strikes me again, about a month later. Regular, thoughtfully planned exercise. It’s my jam.
The main reason for the exercise is a camping trip in a few weeks, where I’ll be climbing ridiculous mountains in the Bill Bryson Walk in the Woods kind of way. The deep sniff, the “I’ve shit in the woods” club, you know the gist. I only wish I could take Stephen Katz with me. So tonight I decided that a long, fast walk on a near vertical treadmill would be a top idea. I’ll let you know the levels of agony tomorrow.
In trying to wheedle this around to baby/parenting/pregnancy talk, exercise has been on my mind a lot lately. My crazed on-again, off-again-off-again-off-again relationship with working out is not exactly in line with the “regular, medium paced, health inducing” recommendations of the baby books. In short, I’m slightly up shit creek on the “get into the habit of regular exercise” stuff. I know how important it is to eat well, and to get regular exercise, but when it comes down to an hour of falling into a heap on the couch, or of running to nowhere on a soggy treadmill, I choose coouuuuuch! I can’t handle gyms. I can’t deal with being my sweaty, panting, staggering self next to people who are either so buff they’re having trouble raising their arms, or so beautiful the only sign of exertion on their 10km sprint is an attractive beading of sweat on their forehead, most probably perfectly forming the outline of a rose. Bastards.
This all makes me sound rather a lot like I need to be craned in and out of my house. Not the case, I promise. I have a health BMI, eat well, and as a teacher get a high level of incidental exercise. I just hate the planned crap. I think it’s going to be my hardest goal to attain in getting my body in peak condition for baby growing. But who knows? Maybe I love Zumba (erghhhh) and just don’t know it yet.
Yours in slothfulness,