Contradictions

Along with the new year and these lovely snow days (the little Carter County teacher bonus) comes the inevivitable realization that exercise needs to be part of my routine. I have gone in spurts over the years. I even belonged to a gym for a while, more than once. I have walked the neighborhood with Kylie or neighbors. I have purchased videos. I even own a stablity ball and mini tramp. I get it. No lectures necessary. Why can't I keep it up? Why is it such a chore? It isn't really that big of a deal.

Maybe I have the sports gene missing. I do hate to watch sports (except the Olympics, a contradiction, I know). I thank God that my children were not sporty. That would have meant endless hours watching practices and games. I can't imagine greater torture. Pee Wee soccer and T-Ball were horrible for all of us and were thankfully short lived. No matter what I have tried or how hard I have pushed, I have never felt the magical endorphin rush. Maybe I am missing that gene, too.

Maybe it is vanity. Not only does being sweaty feel gross and smell bad, my hair sticks to my head, and I look pretty darn bad. My cue to quit is that warm, damp feeling of just breaking a sweat.

Find something you think is fun and do that, they say. Fun? Seriously? None of it is fun. Dancing or skating might be tolerable. The best I can hope for is to tolerate movement while doing something else that distracts me. Several years ago there was this excercise lady on TV that I actually liked, Charlene Prickett. She was so chatty about her friends, her kids, and what she had recently read, that it was pretty much over before you knew it. She's not on any more. Her videos are boring since there's no newsy chat.

So, today I jumped around and walked on a mini-stepper (yes, I have that, too) while watching a recording of America's Test Kitchen. Thirty commercial-free minutes, and I am done. And yes, I am aware of the contradiction of watching a cooking show to distract me from the horror of excercise. Whatever works, I guess.