I think that I’ve figured out why I don’t want to exercise. Exercise is hard. I mean, that probably goes without saying. But if I think about exercise from the standpoint of just here and now, it’s not worth it. It hurts. I get all sweaty. I have so many other things that I need to do, that I could do during the same time. Far too often, exercise just doesn’t work for me. (Those who know me well know that I have very little in my life that does work for me, and I still don’t have time to do the little that remains.)
I’ve actually had time to exercise a few days this past week, but found ways to talk myself out of doing anything on each occasion. Today it was paying bills; Saturday it was using the Wii to pretend I was doing something. There’s been an excuse every day. I’ve come to see the NordicTrack as an implement of torture. I don’t want to get back on the horse.
I realized that I really need a goal to actually get me motivated to exercise, and the goal can’t simply be to lose weight or get in shape, or something like that. It has to relate to something that I enjoy that I believe today’s exercise will help. I need a goal event or achievement. I need to decide to ride the Desperado Dual or the ULCER. I need to determine that I’m going to clear the water ski slalom course this season. I need something that ties in something that I know I enjoy. I then need to believe that I will be able to accomplish that goal, and I need to believe that today’s exercise will positively impact my ability to accomplish the goal.
Right now I don’t have a goal like that simply because I don’t believe that I will achieve a goal like that this year. I’ve officially declared this winter’s snow skiing season to be over before it even began. I’m increasingly dubious of any major biking events staying on my schedule this summer. Stemming from a number of factors, I don’t know how much I will actually get to the lake for water skiing this summer either. And, lacking a goal I can believe in, I don’t have the desire to get up early in the morning, drag my tired self down to the basement, crank up some tunes that I may or may not enjoy, and make myself hurt. It’s just not intrinsically worth it to me.
Maybe I’m just weak willed. Maybe I’ve just decided that it’s okay to live a borderline-obese existence. (Maybe I should find a primary care physician and get back on the statins.) I don’t know. Maybe I just need to figure out how I can believe in a goal for this year that will have the power to motivate me to give up a half hour of coveted sleep, replacing it with daily pain. At this point, that’s going to take some doing.
So, for now I’ll continue to eat a few more calories each day that I burn, and gradually watch my weight go back up. Such is the life of a stressed desk jockey. I wonder when Rubenesque will again become popular; I’m ready.
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