If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd really have taken better care of myself. I fully expected to die a tragic death, young enough so people would cry into their hankies about the tragedy. But here I find myself having passed into the time when people will say, "Ah well...she lived a good and full life". This happens at about 35 I think. You know, still approaching the hill, but past being 'carded' for a drink.
The sound is "creak and groan".
You are never too old to start is what the health gurus say. It doesn't matter what your body is saying. Of course depending on your age and health you are advised to check with your overweight, chain smoking doctor...oops, that's another story...
I already biked alot, but I figured if I'm sitting, then parts of me aren't really getting used. The arms are only getting some action when you clench your fists around the handlebars to avoid the moronic drivers who pull out on you. The legs do good, but the butt is a bit stationary except those hot days when you've worn the wrong shorts and you chafe. Then you know you've moved.
I liked to swim, but it's awfully difficult to take off the strapped down cover, break the ice, and plunge into that slime green water in the winter. Joining an indoor pool means money, scheduling, and showing your white pasty thighs to half the county.
No, I am NOT making excuses not to exercise! You think I can't hear you! It's my body that's going, not my hearing...yet.
Okay, we've got just about every one with a name in lights doing videos to crunch, tighten, tone, firm, build, shape, and otherwise torture you. I've not checked but I'm sure there's even 'Tonsils of Steel', I mean let's not skip a single body part. Have you ever tried one of those? The camera pans all over the place! Here you are on the floor, one leg raised to heights requiring a light a la Federal Aviation laws. You are trying to count, hold, and figure out your left from right, and the camera is on the sweaty upper lip of hunk of the month. I need to see positions people! I need guidance! I'm a person, not a Broadway dancer.
Running is out! It's bad for your knees anyway, pounding on the hard surface day after day. And if God had meant for us to run, we'd have been born with a stitch in our side already. It's expensive, those silky little runner shorts that don't cover much and flop up past what they do cost more than a suit. And, I ask you...when have you ever seen a runner smiling as he/she runs? To top it off, I can't spit, runners must spit, it's part of that sweaty gaspy thing they do.
So, I chose walking, not sauntering along with a little doggie stick in my hand, but real POWER walking. Heavy breathing, arm swinging, light headed, calf firming, thigh building, bun bouncing walking. Hmmm...sounds a little like sex doesn't it? Use your imagination if you can't remember.
And walk I do, almost every day, winter, spring, summer and fall. Five to ten miles a day. And thank you all for all the money you toss on the streets. I've gotten as little as a penny and as much as five bucks on my dailies. Fit and rich all with the same effort.
I've also been dog bit, two at a time, one on each thigh.
I've acquired a treadmill for those days when it's truly too bad to go out. I have it right next to one of my computers in the bedroom. It's boring. I've tried to add a little excitement to it. Turn on the TV while you walk, but to drown out the motor you must use volume significant enough to break the sound barrier. I've tried reading, and even strapping the computer keyboard to the electronic console. I've tried chatting online while walking this way. When you aren't paying attention to your stride, if your foot goes just slightly off the moving belt onto the stationary side your entire body is suddenly propelled across the room. It's truly acrobatic. The bruises eventually go away.
Do I feel good? YES, there's nothing like the sting of sweat in your eyes and the pain of a heel spur to let you know that you've really pushed the envelope. Are my thighs firm when I walk, does my butt rise high in my jeans, are my shoulders broad and straight, have my upper arms ceased to wave at passers-by? Do I finally have the body of Cindy Crawford?
Does a mole count?