As everyone knows, just as eating healthy has to be consistent, so does exercise. One week, one month, or one year off is going to yield predictable results. Being an impatient sort of person, I want fast results, and—to my regret—have learned that one-hour of any type of exercise isn’t going to reverse decades of inactivity. Even if I’m consistent for a whole week of daily workouts, I’m not going to get an instant new body.
Now that summer’s fast approaching, I’m ‘treated’ to gimmicky adverts about getting a knock-em-dead body before spring is over—if I follow the work-out routines of a certain video. I think it’s going to take longer than one month. Really.
What I’ve yet to discover, unfortunately, is the consequences of a true life-habit of exercise. (Please watch this spot for positive results next year, promise!) I’m hoping that writing my thoughts down about exercise at weekly intervals will drive me—or shame me—to get beyond the idea that it is merely a theory or philosophy.
From my attempts at different types of physical activity I’ve learnt that I actually don’t dislike exercise! It’s not something I dread; it’s not a chore, and the results?? Fantastic—I stand and walk taller, plus I’ve learned that the more I move, the less pain I feel. Okay, in those first two blocks of walking my joints might be a bit stiff, but after I plod on, the blood starts to flow and those muscles happily wake up.
My own personal relationship with exercise has obviously been an on and off sort of affair. (It’s me; it’s not you.) To reach the optimum level of commitment, as each week begins—since my schedule’s so erratic—I need to fit the exercise in; make definite plans for it. Since I don’t have the luxury of choosing only one time of the day that best works for me, I’ll go walking or swimming in the morning, then another day maybe (whoa, did I say ‘maybe’?) it’s yoga and weights in the evening. Whenever and whatever—physical activity is a main priority—not some sort of elective that I can drop (for fear of failing) half way through the term.
When I sprained both ankles last year, resulting in a hobbling sort of walk, which led to back spasms, I felt quite sorry for myself. I’d watch with envy as the 70 or 80 year olds briskly walked down the trails, leaving me in the dust.
Then my older daughter introduced me to yoga, and also gave me a kick-start on losing the ‘woe-is-me’ attitude. Actually, all 3 of my children have various ways of skillfully sharing their concern for me to get active. I’m taking their concerns and am embracing the total commitment to a reciprocal love-love relationship with exercise. Enough of talking about it, its time for some yoga!