Those of you who have been reading here know that I don’t like to exercise. That I grew up the kid with too much energy, a mover and do-er, waiting for the day I could sit on my diderum-dah and do nothing.
It was a crushing disappointment to me to find out that the sedentary lifestyle of my older generation was not something to look forward to. And that the life of ‘The Jetsons’ with their self cleaning house and robots to do everything else was not to me mine either. (Sigh)
I have the cushy desk chair and the computer. My fingers are ready and willing to push buttons and keys all day. I have a nice group of video games to fill my waking hours.
But better health insists that exercise is the way to go. It will improve my memory troubles, limit health problems, and prevent injury.
Yet, I hate it. I do it, but I hate it. I hate it to the point of exercise rage.
Yes that is what I said. Exercise Rage.
I scream and cry, curse and throw things. (I have a foam brick I use to keep the damage down.) I am a menace, a horror, a meany.
The dogs and husband flee from the room, and the house itself when possible, when it is time for me to exercise.
I have even scared myself at times. Red faced and at the boiling point. Melt down eminent. (This is not good.)
Where is the ‘runners high’ people talk about with exercise? I see red.
Where is the feeling of good and righteous self control? I feel burning anger.
Where are the positive endorphins? I have resentment and just feel tired.
Why can’t I just find a bit of enjoyment in this exercise business?
I was the kid who ran everywhere, moved mountains with a teaspoon, was always busy. And now that I have come to a time in my life where I feel I should be able to sit down and rest, I’m told to get up and get moving.
I am tired of trying to trick myself into exercising. I need to get me a better attitude about exercise.