It has been over six weeks – 6 long weeks – since I hit the gym and exercise class. We were on a fabulous three-week vacation, then came home for two days and it was back on the road again for an out-of-town wedding. Two weeks before we left was also very busy with no time for formal exercise; one week spent in Colorado with the kids and grandkids, and one week of holidays and vacation preparation.
I know this is a thinly disguised means of making excuses, but I have not exercised for weeks. My body is showing it and I sure feel it. Some people are lucky and can get away with not exercising at all. Some can eat just about anything with no consequences. Don’t tell immigration, but I came home from overseas with fish and chips, ice cream and other edibles on my hips and around my waist.
We walked a lot while on vacation, and that helped keep some pounds off, but it is not the same as regular, vigorous exercise. I know I should have done more. I would have done more. I could have done more. But I did not.
And so the big day looms. The day I return to exercise class. For better or for worse. For a less fat, (hopefully) thinner body. I will go in sickness and in health. I will return to the gym. I will exercise. I will participate.
|This is how I felt before class.|
Nobody ever said it was going to be easy. I remember – I think it was a Jane Fonda exercise command, “burn, baby, burn” - or something like that. She was not referring to a movie escapade.
I do not really believe that the more it hurts and the more I suffer, the better off I will be. That might be true of the young and the fit, but not the old and falling apart. I am more worried about hurting myself – pulling a muscle, for instance, or twisting an ankle – than becoming the next AARP pin-up woman.
And so with much trepidation I entered my jazzercise class yesterday afternoon, a fun, low impact (my jumping and pounding days are long over), tiring but not perspiring-I-am-going-to-die demanding ordeal.
The fact that I lasted the entire one-hour class was an achievement. I tried very hard not to look at the clock too often; it only makes me more tired and worried I will not make it through the hour. The first time I glanced at the clock we were fifteen – 15 – minutes into the class. Only 45 more to go. I felt OK.
I successfully completed the class, although I admit there were times during the last half hour - especially the last 15 minutes - when I could have been more enthusiastic, dynamic, energetic. But I was still standing and able to get dinner on the table when I returned home. And I did not fall asleep during dinner.
|This is how I felt after class.|