There are fewer things I look forward to than a good work out. Haha. Just kidding. I probably don’t dread anything more than going to the gym. At forty-two I’ve managed to join many, and attend few. It was a good system and it worked for my needs. Until a few years ago when I realized my waist size was keeping up with my age. Admittedly, it was convenient to have a mechanism for remembering my age, and likewise my waist size, assuming I’d never forget both at the same time.
I’d been a skinny kid my whole life up until my late twenties when I left the scurried activity of retail for a job at a desk, surrounded by corporate American food. As my activity level decreased (unless you count dancing on Saturday nights and lifting alcoholic bevvies to my lips) and my eating increased, the chubbies slowly sneaked up on me. At six feet two inches it took a while for people–for me–to notice, or acknowledge, really. Would I consider myself “obese”? No, but as a pre-worrier, I could picture myself not doing anything about it and having a heart attack in the shower and suffer a fate worse than death by being seen in my fat nakedness by the paramedics.
So, in October I decided to make a change. The past year had been one of incredible change for my husband and me. We’d faced many challenges and no doubt had more to face. And I wanted to be able to face them all in better physical condition which would in turn (so I was told) also strengthen my emotional position and help me to better manage stress. It’s been three months from my initial membership commitment and I have seen results–the biggest being that I feel good about going. In fact, there is nothing better than the feeling AFTER you’ve worked out. It’s done. And I’m at the further possible point from the next session!