I can stress about anything, so it should come as no surprise that I’m becoming increasingly stressed over my decision to exercise (almost) daily. I know that runs counter to what all the experts say about exercise, but the experts don’t live in my tortured brain.
First, there is the time issue. Mornings are ideal. But, mornings are ideal for a lot of things: working, planning my day, doing school with the kids, picking up the house, starting the laundry, talking to my mom. Oh, and lately mornings have meant soccer on Tuesday and art class on Wednesday which totally throws off my schedule. I am certainly not the busiest person in the world, so this shouldn’t be so hard to figure out.
If I don’t exercise in the morning, the spirit of Jillian follows me around the rest of the day as we go from one activity to another. “Gargle your heart“, she whispers to me. “You want abs like that?”. I know, I know. . .I’ll fit it in. . .later. Maybe.
When I get in front of the TV and pick a program from On Demand, I’ll fret about my decision: this is too hard! Why do I suck so much?, or I’m not even sweating! This isn’t going to do anything for me!
And then woe is me if I skip a day (or days). . .am I losing all the muscle tone I worked so hard to get? Why do those pants feel tighter? Why do I even bother?!?!
It’s enough to make me want to buy elastic-waist pants and forget about this entirely. But, I can’t. I won’t.
Instead, I add to my angst. As if making a sweaty fool of myself in the comfort of my own home isn’t enough, I’ve gone and added a layer of stress that comes from exposing myself to the public: I’ve joined a gym.
Someone give me a Valium.
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