I don’t like to exercise.  That will strike some people as odd as I do quite a bit of it.  I go to boot camp and belong to a couple of spin (stationary bike) gyms.  I participate in a variety of yoga and pilates classes.  I walk everywhere.  I can’t sit still for too long or I begin to go slightly mad.  But like it?  Not really.  I just have come to the terrifying conclusion that if I don’t “use it” I will indeed “lose it” and there is longevity in my family.  I don’t want to spend my elder years immobilized and you just have to keep moving to prevent such a thing.  But like it?  Not really.

Today for instance.  I am currently wandering about, unable to raise my arms over my head courtesy of a brutal upper body workout delivered by Melissa, the 4’10” drill master.  I feel like a marionette with cut strings and I seriously hope I am not robbed at gunpoint (ok, I hope I am not robbed at gunpoint for a number of reasons) lest I be physically incapable of fulfilling the request to “stick ’em up”.  This is the result of an upper body day.  I have done leg work outs that have me deeply regretting the purchase of a two story condo with the sole bathroom being located on the upper level.  Many the day I have trod the streets urging myself to try and “walk like a person!” as I lurch down the sidewalk like a drunken Frankenstein monster, quad muscles seized and calves that feel like they have been whipped with a switch.  And yet I continue not only to subject myself to the rigor but to actually pay a not inconsiderable amount for the privilege.

The other day I was explaining the concept of “going to failure” to a friend.  Essentially you perform repeated reps of an exercise until you simply cannot do a single one more.  It is a fairly important concept in fitness, and my friend was staring at me, nodding silently with a look that clearly implied I was due for a long vacation in a padded cell.

What do I get out of it?  I sleep better.  I feel better.  I can eat whatever I want (within reason).  I am calmer.  And I resent the hell out of every single one of those things because I just want a pill that lets me stay fit by eating bon bons and watching documentaries while reposing on the couch.

Let me know when they invent one of those.  In the meantime I will spend the rest of my life chained to an exercise commitment and the next hour trying to crawl into a sweater without using my arms.

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