Trick Yourself Into Getting Fit
On my to do list is to find joyful exercise. To sweat with dignity. To tone and firm and be ludicrously fit.
My progress report: ….is in progress.
I can talk myself out of virtually anything. Including exercising. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s just…I haven’t found My Perfect Exercise yet. My husband is an avid squash player and gets regular workouts without thinking of them as workouts. He’s got: a game he loves, a skill he’s perfecting, and a night out with his friends all in one. I want that.
My quest for The Perfect Exercise goes way back to the days of The Twenty Minute Workout - remember that? Bess Motta, lip gloss and absurdly large hair? That worked for a while until I felt like I was training to be an extra in a porn flick. Once I had that image in my mind, there was no way I was going to do “…just three more…(breathe)…and two more…(pout seductively)…aaaaand one more…”. I just couldn’t do it and not laugh. Mind you, laughing one’s ass off would be My Perfect Workout if I could actually laugh my ass off.
The next thing I tried was skiing. I approached the slope with nothing less than abject terror. It didn’t get any better. So I ditched the skis and took the poles and tried to get into Nordic Walking. I was overcome with self-consciousness because one too many people commented on the fact that the slopes were “over there”. Ha. Next stop: The New York City Ballet workout. I was psyched. It was classical, it was beautiful, they were fabulous…and then the narrator began talking. “The worh-mup…” The deep baritone of Peter Martin’s Danish-accented English made me snort too much to get much of a workout. And it was really hard. There was that…
I did Turbo Jam for quite some time, then Rhimba. Both of those are fun, but seem to incite an audience. I’m not okay with an audience while I try to round-house-kick the mantel. I’m not, what you might call a natural athlete. And I am most definitely not a dancer.
The sports in which I did okay were: horseback riding and archery, which, if I lived in a different century would be fine and dandy. And much as I’d love to ride horses every other day, it’s just not going to happen with my city life.
I needed a plan. So at the risk of turning into mush and not doing ANYTHING physical, I decided to trick myself into exercising.
How I Trick Myself Into Exercising
- I walk everywhere I can. Unless I don’t feel like it. Or it’s raining.
- I take the stairs. Mostly.
- I stand on the train. This isn’t necessarily by choice, but when I’m standing I can clench and unclench various parts of my anatomy. (Granted, I may make unusual faces while doing this, but it often gets me a seat because people move away…)
- I do laundry. And yes, I do consider this cardio (up and down the stairs) and strength training (do you know how much laundry a family of five – some of whom are not yet toilet trained – generates? That’s resistance, baby!)
- I pretend. A lot.
But I’m fantastically open to suggestions. What can I do in heels? (And no suggestions for Stripaerobics, thank you – it just takes me back to Bess!)
What do you do?
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