Exercise is important.
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.
If you’re curious for a list of reasons why exercise is important, this month’s issue of Fitness Magazine provides an impressive list of all the good exercise will do for you, from amping up your sex drive to jogging your memory. But, seriously: Unless you’ve spent the last few years with your fingers stuck in your ears, singing “La la la, I can’t hear you!” at the media, or if you’re desperately trying to create new magazine content around the never-changing principle of “eat less, move more,” you should already know enough about the “why” of exercise to move you to the conclusion that you oughta … er … move.
(I swear, I don’t plan those witty puns. *sigh*)
Somewhere between the conclusion that you ought to exercise and the actual act of exercising (yours) lies the big ugly ditch of … motivation? Making time? Ass-in-gear-ness? Stick-to-it-ive-ness? And let me be very clear: The big ugly ditch kept me from having to buy new (any!) sneakers for years. Here’s some of what finally worked for me (… we’ll keep divine intervention out of it for the moment):
- Know Thyself: I’m goal-oriented. I also like structure. These are mixed blessings, particularly since I’m also prone to the killer of all exercise regimens, otherwise known as “all or nothing” thinking. You know: “If I can only work out for (30 minutes, an hour, three evenings a week, etc.), I might as well not bother.” Therein lies great folly. On the other hand, my love of structure makes me fond of all manner of plans, e.g. the Couch-to-5K *plan* or Hal Higdon’s Novice Spring Training *plan* or the pre-*planned* weekly kickboxing class at the local gym.
- Start Small: Eventually, after years of trial and error, I realized that a.) I couldn’t do it all and that b.) doing nothing wasn’t working out so well either. It also dawned upon me that there was a handy little walking trail just outside of my apartment. And one day, those realizations met in the very empty space of my cranial cavity and, behold, the daily (read: several-times-weekly) walk was born. It took less than an hour the first time, and continued to take less and less time over the coming weeks, as my fitness level was improving. Still, it was that elusive bit between “everything” and “nothing” — it was “something”. Something’s pretty good.
- Know No Shame: I’m at least as self-conscious as the average woman. This may have to do with the fact that I’m larger than the average woman, at least in matters of fatty deposits, that my face turns a lovely shade of tomato whenever I exert myself in the least (and stays that way for, lo, the hour to come), and that I am a natural redhead. Shame was beaten into me from my grade-school days. I’m also in my thirties and, as you may have gathered, not the fittest form in any room — particularly not if the room is a pseudo-Ivy gym-facility filled with nubile freshmen who are, on average, 15 years younger and fifty pounds lighter than yours truly. Add to all these that I’m a klutz, constantly covered in bruises and without even the rudiments of balance, and you’ll quickly realize why everyone in my Yoga class knows me: I’m the one who falls over. Ditto for kickboxing: I not only fall over, I also fall terminally behind during routines that involve more than, say, one move. The point is, however, that I can take it. That most people really ARE preoccupied with themselves — particularly in large, spare rooms covered with mirrors — and that those who aren’t are not my problem.
- There’s of course a long series of additional “commandments” — “have fun!”, for example, or “find balance in your regimen,” or “switch it up on a regular basis” … but let’s face it: For the most part, these are for the pros amongst us, and I’m very far from joining those ranks. In the next post, I’ll tell you a bit more about the things I’m actually doing to keep my rear in gear these days … and perhaps solicit some advice on how to make the pieces that need to be part of it (but aren’t yet) fit.
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