What's going on with me that I make every excuse in the world not to exercise? Why is that?
The jury's in about the benefit of exercising. I've found that going to Curves works for me. The clientele is like me--female, older and, for the most part, out of shape. It's a great comfort to me that the place isn't filled with young hard bodies, firm, lithe and nubile.
When I do Curves' half-hour circuit and post-workout stretches, I do it full-bore and actually work up a sweat. I can pop in whenever it's convenient (provided the urge to exercise coincides with their hours of operation). It's a wham, bam, thank you, Ma'am/no muss, no fuss kinda exercise program.
I always feel better afterwards! The endorphines kick in and, psychologically, I feel I've done something good for myself. When I do Curves two or three times a week for a couple of months, the shape of my body tightens and improves noticeably. There's no longer a need to lie down on the bed to zip the jeans, or wear the long, cover-the-bulges tops. I can even grab items of clothing from the thinner side of the closet!
The latest derailment of my body began right about the time the wheels started coming off the relationship. That was late summer. It's clear to me that emotions trigger what I eat, and how I treat my body. I see the pattern. I wasn't getting naked for anyone anymore, so why bother?
So, time heals, but before I knew it, the holidays were here and I became too busy. After the holidays, I was too tired, it was too cold, too dark, too wet, it was too much to ask of someone who has the luxury of telecommuting to venture out to exercise, a person who isn't required to leave her home to work, who never has to wear anything with a waistband.
What triggered this self-flaggelation, you ask? Why, the visit to the new doctor, of course! I had to get on the scale and the thing-a-majiggy was slid to the maximum of my allowable range. Urgh. Once in the examining room, the doctor began asking all the questions on the checklist (any history of liver problems, kidney problems, etc.) My responses were automatic, until the one came about how frequently I exercise. I'm sure my face resembled Wiley Coyote's after he's run off the cliff and looks downward. Err...umm...sputter-sputter... I can't recall what I mumbled as an excuse, or lack of one. He told me to walk. Just walk. I live in a walking neighborhood, so just walk.
The doctor appointment was on Monday. It's now Friday. Have I walked? Have I seen the inside of the local Curves. NAH. The thing is, no matter what my good intentions, the minute I begin to think about not going to exercise for whatever reason, it's over. I'm not going to do it.
What I'm hoping is that my writing about it will be another catharsis, spurring me into action. Stay tuned...