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didn't even jog
Jun. 20th, 2012 09:51 am"You didn't even jog at all this time, not counting that brief little jaunt at the end!"
Yeah, I know. But the thing is, this morning I was sorely tempted to quit altogether. I was feeling comically and girlishly lean and weak of limb, and a little sore of back. And it seemed silly to go on, knowing that it was only a matter of time before I quit anyway. It was a real challenge just to go out at all.
"So, why did you?"
I had this idea, formed from near the beginning of this resurgence of enthusiasm for dieting and exercise, that this would be my measure of elderliness: when I absolutely could no longer continue this routine. So long as I can do this, walking or jogging, then I figure that I must have some appreciable life in me. So, i do not want to lose this measuring stick.
Then when I started out this morning, I was thinking that I just cannot jog. And then it hit me: why give up on everything just because I am not up to jogging? This whole bit started out with the idea of just being a walk; it is only later that I started to get over-ambitious again.
"A walk is a pretty low measure."
True. Though, I am upping the routine by throwing in push-up and stomach crunches, and not just for my morning jaunts, but as a prelude to my showers, which means every other day at the least.
"Not a lot of push-ups and crunches."
True. I only did a couple of repetitions of ten push-ups and fifteen crunches, but it is a significant effort. It's better than nothing. And I'm sure this will build up. And I still expect to be able to jog, just not in the very near future.
I don't want to let big ambitions drown out a relatively healthy enterprise. And I don't want books and masturbation to be my only exercise; I have spent too many years that way. I only regret not sticking with it when I took this up with Gabe. It is a shame to have lost those six or seven years of early middle-age. I might be weighing in in my 170s by now, with a much cooler indifference to sweets and sodas.
And if I quit now, I seriously doubt I will ever pick it up again. I cannot see myself at 55 and saying, "Let's hit the road and try to work out again!" This really is my last hurrah. After this bit of Indian summer, it is the cold winter of the rocking chair years.
Yeah, I know. But the thing is, this morning I was sorely tempted to quit altogether. I was feeling comically and girlishly lean and weak of limb, and a little sore of back. And it seemed silly to go on, knowing that it was only a matter of time before I quit anyway. It was a real challenge just to go out at all.
"So, why did you?"
I had this idea, formed from near the beginning of this resurgence of enthusiasm for dieting and exercise, that this would be my measure of elderliness: when I absolutely could no longer continue this routine. So long as I can do this, walking or jogging, then I figure that I must have some appreciable life in me. So, i do not want to lose this measuring stick.
Then when I started out this morning, I was thinking that I just cannot jog. And then it hit me: why give up on everything just because I am not up to jogging? This whole bit started out with the idea of just being a walk; it is only later that I started to get over-ambitious again.
"A walk is a pretty low measure."
True. Though, I am upping the routine by throwing in push-up and stomach crunches, and not just for my morning jaunts, but as a prelude to my showers, which means every other day at the least.
"Not a lot of push-ups and crunches."
True. I only did a couple of repetitions of ten push-ups and fifteen crunches, but it is a significant effort. It's better than nothing. And I'm sure this will build up. And I still expect to be able to jog, just not in the very near future.
I don't want to let big ambitions drown out a relatively healthy enterprise. And I don't want books and masturbation to be my only exercise; I have spent too many years that way. I only regret not sticking with it when I took this up with Gabe. It is a shame to have lost those six or seven years of early middle-age. I might be weighing in in my 170s by now, with a much cooler indifference to sweets and sodas.
And if I quit now, I seriously doubt I will ever pick it up again. I cannot see myself at 55 and saying, "Let's hit the road and try to work out again!" This really is my last hurrah. After this bit of Indian summer, it is the cold winter of the rocking chair years.
