You know those girls you see in the gym who look all cute and sporty in their color-coordinated work out suits?
Their hair is pulled back in a spiffy little pony, nice rosy glow to their cheeks, maybe a slight bit of perspiration on their brow?
They have rock-hard abs, a tight tush and not a single jiggle can be seen from their arms.
Well, let's just make one thing perfectly clear - I am NOT one of those girls.
Oh NO, I could not be FURTHER from one of those girls.
Let's just get the truth out there. I am not a fan of exercise.
I have always hated the idea of perspiration and, quiet frankly, never wanted mine or that of anyone else to touch me. And, yes, that includes the sweat of the man I love and small children!
Now, those of you who know me are all too aware of my rather compulsive personality.
Whether it be related to Texas Hold'em, collecting (let's just not talk the pumpkins or the dishware or the music) or my love of all things food. You're getting the picture, right?
Unfortunately my compulsiveness does not carry over to exercise.
Lord, oh Lord how I do wish that it would.
I know of people who claim to be addicted to the rush of exercise. They claim it takes them to some special place - a special exercise world where everything becomes golden.
As far as I can tell the only place exercise has ever taken me is to my own little version of hell. In this place I become a huffing, puffing, dripping-wet, red-faced, uncoordinated, overweight, generic middle-aged white woman.
And let me tell you folks, when I get there, I ain't pretty. Not inside or out. In fact, I become angry...and dangerous!
With the obvious out there on the table I'll go ahead and say that I fully acknowledge the benefits of exercise.
I understand that as a person living with Multiple Sclerosis exercise is essential to my ability to continue to MOVE long term.
I understand exercise is essential to weight loss and that with weight loss comes more health benefits than I care to discuss here today.
I understand that it is time (AGAIN) that I commit myself to an exercise plan. (This time I'm saying a little prayer, Lord, please help me become obsessed with exercise. Amen.)
Once again the exercise bike and I are going to bond...to become one...blah, blah, blah...
It shouldn't be too hard, should it? After all, there was a time we were pretty tight.
Okay, who am I kidding? Starting over is never fun. It is almost as if the bike remembers the abandonment from the previous "commitment to an exercise plan" and purposely turns up the resistance while no one is looking.
Maybe that old saying "hell hath no fury" applies to a scorned piece of exercise equipment too?
I've got my non-color-coordinated work out clothes now and I'm off to the gym. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can already hear the conversation I'm about to have...
Me: "Please forgive me Mr. Bike. When I left you it really wasn't personal. It was me, not you. All I ask is that you give me another chance".
Mr. Bike, "Oh I'll give you another chance all right."
**Silently the resistance meter increases higher and higher**
Mr. Bike, "Now peddle faster you huffing, puffing, dripping-wet, red-faced, uncoordinated, overweight, generic middle-aged white woman!"
Hmmm, I can only imagine the fun that awaits me...
8 hours ago