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In the beginning I was a pudgy kid, who then turned into a pudgy teen, and finally a pudgy adult. I didn't really enjoy sweating, and most exercise bored me to tears after a while. Add to that the fact that I tend to avoid things I'm not already proficient at, and you have yourself a recipe for a rather sedentary lifestyle.
Or as I usually say to my doctor when asked "How would you rate your physical activity"
I'm a barnacle.
Which isn't strictly true. You can't be a tried and true barnacle living in Boston without a car. There's a certain amount of walking that just comes with the territory. Truthfully I walk about a mile to a mile and a half every day. And that's just commuting. So...hardly a barnacle, but merely walking to and from the bus is not what I consider regular physical activity.
Back in the day I played softball. At best I was probably an average player, but I had fun with it. There was one summer during junior high where I went to a softball training camp with a group of my friends. If ever there was a time when I could say I was in the best shape of my life, that would have been it.
I should have gotten more involved with sports in high school, but it was an awkward time for me and I was doing my absolute damnedest to find the perfect mix of participation in school activities while hiding from prying eyes. I really didn't enjoy the full focus of public attention, and still don't to this day.
College was the same way. I think I really would have enjoyed rowing crew, but was too intimidated by the actual athletic people that I never followed through with it. Plus they got up really early in the morning to practice, and I've never been a fan of the early morning.
I very vividly remember trying to find, and then use, the college gym this one time with a friend of mine. It was...kind of pathetic, actually. I had no idea what these machines were supposed to do, or what I wanted to do in the first place.
There was a brief yoga phase my freshman year of college. I wasn't very good at that either, mostly because I had little to no body awareness at the time. Frustration follows close at the heels of confusion, and quitting is not usually all that far behind frustration. I will say that I was always surprised by just how sore I was the day after yoga. It was like my body was saying, "NO! Why you do this thing?! All that work to make things tense, and you've ruined it! Well I'll show you!"
At one time my current employer offered a rather sizable discount to a close-to-work gym, and for a while I went there three times a week. At first I didn't think I would like it, what with my rather sizable distaste for gym class, but when I realized no one would be paying any attention to me I started to really enjoy it. I signed up for a free personal training session, and built myself a routine that I was faithful to for a good six months. Like clockwork I would go to the gym, do my cardio while watching reruns of 90210, and then lift things. Randomly I signed up for a Cardio Boxing class and loved that even more. It was great...and then, I think winter happened.
I told myself I'd get back into the swing of things once winter was over, but then the gym moved. The new location wasn't much further away, maybe a block, but it was enough that my interest began to wane. I signed up for another class, pilates* this time.
This didn't work, and shortly there after I stopped going to that gym entirely.
Shortly there after my alma mater opened this brand spanking new fitness center. It was magical, new, and full of co-eds.**
I attempted to recreate my previous three day a week work out regime, but it never took. On two occasions I tried dance and learned that I much prefer belly dancing to ballet.
Eventually I gave up on the gym all together with grand aspirations of completing the online 100/200 Pushup/Situp/Squat challenges. These are great because they are simple moves that don't require fancy equipment, and that totally fulfill my desire to exercise by counting backwards from a given number. While I've yet to finish a program I do find that my subsequent restarts always start a bit closer to the end than my previous restarts. Progress, no matter how small, is still progress.
*If you'll allow, an aside about pilates: I don't know what deranged individual invented pilates, but I can tell you that they hate freedom and kittens and sunshine, and rainbows, and babies. Pilates is all that is evil in the world combined.
** What? I never said I wasn't a dirty old lady.
Or as I usually say to my doctor when asked "How would you rate your physical activity"
I'm a barnacle.
Which isn't strictly true. You can't be a tried and true barnacle living in Boston without a car. There's a certain amount of walking that just comes with the territory. Truthfully I walk about a mile to a mile and a half every day. And that's just commuting. So...hardly a barnacle, but merely walking to and from the bus is not what I consider regular physical activity.
Back in the day I played softball. At best I was probably an average player, but I had fun with it. There was one summer during junior high where I went to a softball training camp with a group of my friends. If ever there was a time when I could say I was in the best shape of my life, that would have been it.
I should have gotten more involved with sports in high school, but it was an awkward time for me and I was doing my absolute damnedest to find the perfect mix of participation in school activities while hiding from prying eyes. I really didn't enjoy the full focus of public attention, and still don't to this day.
College was the same way. I think I really would have enjoyed rowing crew, but was too intimidated by the actual athletic people that I never followed through with it. Plus they got up really early in the morning to practice, and I've never been a fan of the early morning.
I very vividly remember trying to find, and then use, the college gym this one time with a friend of mine. It was...kind of pathetic, actually. I had no idea what these machines were supposed to do, or what I wanted to do in the first place.
There was a brief yoga phase my freshman year of college. I wasn't very good at that either, mostly because I had little to no body awareness at the time. Frustration follows close at the heels of confusion, and quitting is not usually all that far behind frustration. I will say that I was always surprised by just how sore I was the day after yoga. It was like my body was saying, "NO! Why you do this thing?! All that work to make things tense, and you've ruined it! Well I'll show you!"
At one time my current employer offered a rather sizable discount to a close-to-work gym, and for a while I went there three times a week. At first I didn't think I would like it, what with my rather sizable distaste for gym class, but when I realized no one would be paying any attention to me I started to really enjoy it. I signed up for a free personal training session, and built myself a routine that I was faithful to for a good six months. Like clockwork I would go to the gym, do my cardio while watching reruns of 90210, and then lift things. Randomly I signed up for a Cardio Boxing class and loved that even more. It was great...and then, I think winter happened.
I told myself I'd get back into the swing of things once winter was over, but then the gym moved. The new location wasn't much further away, maybe a block, but it was enough that my interest began to wane. I signed up for another class, pilates* this time.
This didn't work, and shortly there after I stopped going to that gym entirely.
Shortly there after my alma mater opened this brand spanking new fitness center. It was magical, new, and full of co-eds.**
I attempted to recreate my previous three day a week work out regime, but it never took. On two occasions I tried dance and learned that I much prefer belly dancing to ballet.
Eventually I gave up on the gym all together with grand aspirations of completing the online 100/200 Pushup/Situp/Squat challenges. These are great because they are simple moves that don't require fancy equipment, and that totally fulfill my desire to exercise by counting backwards from a given number. While I've yet to finish a program I do find that my subsequent restarts always start a bit closer to the end than my previous restarts. Progress, no matter how small, is still progress.
*If you'll allow, an aside about pilates: I don't know what deranged individual invented pilates, but I can tell you that they hate freedom and kittens and sunshine, and rainbows, and babies. Pilates is all that is evil in the world combined.
** What? I never said I wasn't a dirty old lady.
