I wrestled with a pool noodle this week. I lost.I got the same result in my efforts with water dumbbells and a kickboard.
It was mildly humiliating, but for the summer, I’m working up a sweat underwater.
I have tried. Believe me, I have.
But for me, exercise is never going to be as pleasant as lolling about with a book.
Very few things (not even a book) distract me when I’m gasping for breath.
For all that, I do still make some effort to exercise. I cling to the magic “six-week rule.”
It does help knowing that if I stick it out, by then, I will stop feeling like I am going to hurl, or very possibly die. It’s not enough, however, to make me relish the struggle. It flies in the face of my basic attitude about life — “Nothing should be this difficult!”
I can only dredge up some discipline when the view in the mirror gets too horrifying.
Hence, I only manage to squeeze in a couple of hours a week for calorie burning and cardio-building.
Oh stop. I know two hours a week isn’t enough.
But enough isn’t even enough.
The body is really so very uncooperative on this score. I still maintain that our brains should burn calories for any treat we deny ourselves.
If I look at a éclair with longing, my metabolism should fire up and kill off 500 calories, am I right?
I believe my two hours are worthy. Besides the pool workout, the other hour is a killer aerobic dance exercise class. Never mind that I have to keep it low impact, especially any move that might actually be fun.
I do tip my hat to all who keep truly fit.
As for me, I simply seek the perfect balance between that hot fudge sundae and buttoning my favorite pants.