bouldering.jpg We should do it. Every one of us. No excuses. But I don't like it. Ugh! Yet, on Saturday morning I woke up and went for a jog voluntarily. Scary. Occasionally I will be motivated out of nowhere to care about what I eat or how much I exercise, but most of the time not so much.
You'd think it would help that I married the king of all things physically active. The man climbs mountains, lifts weights... and even when there isn't another second left in the day he's trying to find a reason to go outside and walk/jog/skip/jump/sommersault. It's endless.

I think it intimidates me a little. While I find all of his outdoor interests attractive, I know that I'll never be as good at them as he is. Motivation right out the window. I weigh more than him, too. That's a major faux pas for any husband to commit. Yet, it's my fault, not his. And it's always been true. (He's not any more thrilled about the situation than I am, by the way.) He eats like he's got a hollow leg (eh, Cin?), junk food by the ton when he's at work, but never gains an ounce. Then there's me, counting calories or ditching cheese (that lasted all of two days), following the mindless trend of the generally overweight American masses.

And I'm not even overweight! Why do I obsess about this stuff? When I weigh... er... okay, I'll be honest... 138 on a good day. At 5'7" tall I'm well in the midst of the healthy weight range. I've accepted the fact that I'll never be size zero. I appreciate the amount of muscle I was blessed with, actually. It's the jiggly places on my thighs and backside that I'm not exactly cool with. My insecurities about my "wobbly bits" come screaming to the forefront the second bikini season hits. That's probably true for all women, right? Please tell me I'm right. Our cellulitophobia sets in and sends us grabbing for sarongs and robes to conveniently cover anything that's not tight and toned.

But who wants to live like that? Summer happens to also include perfect weather for working out. Coincidence? Or did God in His infinite wisdom foresee the feminine fears and allow for some opportunity to better ourselves. Rather than whining, why not lace up the sneakers and take a walk in the sun? Well, because an hilarious rerun of "Mad About You" is on! Duh! I'm ashamed to admit that, even as a proud owner of Tivo, certain shows keep me indoors when I should be huffing and puffing myself around the block.

exercise.jpg Thankfully I have friend suffering by my side. No, I'm not thankful they suffer, it's just that I'd rather not be alone. And I'm supportive of all their efforts to actually utilize the gyms or diets. Today, motivated by an email from my pal Cindy, I knew I needed to exercise. Why not? School is out and I have all the time in the world. Therefore I am proud to report that I accompanied Jon to our gym this evening and spent half and hour climbing and bouldering, and half an hour doing a fairly strenuous regimen on an exercise bike. Calories were blazing right off of me.
The best part is, of course, that afterwards I felt rejuvenated. All of those people who say that running makes them feel less tired... aren't lying! Yes, my legs felt like putty after my stint on the bike, but I walked out of the gym feeling a major sense of accomplishment. I bested myself. And I climbed well, too.

So will I continue in this vein? It's obvious that I understand the benefits. I've lived the fit lifestyle before. Unfortunately I have more than one Achilles heel. First I must force myself to workout two days in a row. Sounds easy, but it really isn't for me. Second I have to battle shin splints (something I've been tormented by since my days in volleyball) and sore muscles... both of which hinder my chances at exercising that second day. And then, even if I make it through that... if I take a day of rest... getting back into the groove is the hardest thing for me to do.

Jon is on my side, though, giving me encouragement and kisses. Tonight he told me I was beautiful even as I peddled furiously, sweat dripping down my red face. And he wasn't making it up either. Seeing me exert myslf, push my body to it's potential, bettering my health all make him very happy. He loves it. Hopefully I'll translate that love and encouragement into motivation, continuing to exercise regularly. If I can drop 8 pounds I'll be happy. Some kind of goal is always good to have and, as I learned repetitively from my father, it's best to write that goal down so that others can help to hold you accountable. This will work.

Tomorrow I have a day off of Banana, no homework, just some projects around the house. Perhaps I'll work out a bit in the morning. Wow, that makes me sound so put-together and in control of my life. We'll see. For now I have slightly aching hamstrings groaning at me. But if I listen really close I can hear them say, "Thank you, Audrey. It's about time."