I hate to exercise. I mean, hate hate. I just don't understand why someone would want to do it willingly.
My attitude changed several years ago, when my friend and neighbor, who is an exercise buff, talked me into going for a "walk" with her. What she neglected to tell me is that she walks about 20 miles per hour, up hills, in 95 degree, 100 percent humidity weather, and oh, it's only about three miles.
Since the husbands were deployed, we decided to have some drinks on the porch afterwards. Because that's what we did-drink-when they were deployed.
Soon after, we started "walking" every night. I came to enjoy this time, and my Pavlovian reaction to the walks - beer. When it came time for the guys to come home, I amazed myself. I had the body I had wanted for years. I didn't have to push my thighs down into my shorts. The shorts slid all the way up to my ass without getting stuck. Hallelujah! I had muscles on the side of my stomach. Whoa.
I've exercised here and there over the years since. I remember how great I felt with that body.
Yesterday, I stopped making excuses. I woke up for the first time in my life, motivated to work out. Not sure where that came from, but I embraced it. I put on my dusty workout clothes, sent Addison to school, and walked the short way to the track at the middle school.
I didn't walk miles and it was cloudy and cool, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I even jogged a little.
I went back today and did the same thing. I even ran more, even though no one was chasing me. This is the only way I can run-I imagine I just stole something and someone's chasing me down. Yes, I am weird.
I plan on continuing the exercise. Once Addison's out of school, we'll get up and hit the track.
And if I start to get lazy, please feel free to give me a swift kick in the ass.