Yes. Yes, I am.
I've known for awhile now (years, if I'm being honest), that I need to lose weight. And I have a few times. Slowly. Reluctantly. Correctly. But then it comes back. Blarg.
I know how to lose weight. I know what I need to eat and how active I need to be. I know I can do it without complicated plans and costly supplements. I just need to do it. (Right, Nike?)
I'm making some strides on the eating end. I stopped drinking pop December 11 (one month and two days ago!). I'm watching my portions. And although I've never been a big snacker, I know I need to keep a thoughtful eye on what to snack on. All things I can do.
The part I'm not OK with is the exercise.
#$%^& <----- Those are my feelings about exercise.----->
I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate that when I exercise I can't breathe. I hate that when I exercise I hurt. I hate that when I exercise I sweat. I.hate.exercising.
Don't get me wrong. I love to be outdoors. I love walking. Hiking. Riding my bike. Playing softball and volleyball. ... For fun. For leisure. Not for the calorie-burning effects.
Unfortunately, weather in northwest Ohio is unpredictable to say the least. (We had our front door open on Christmas day for Pete's sake.) So that's always been a convenient excuse not to exercise. I know I can't wait for nice weather to hike or ride my bike. I need to get my butt down to the basement and on the elliptical.
So, the other night I did. Stomping and groaning and huffing and puffing the entire time. I flung myself off the couch. I stomped down the basement stairs. I huffed and puffed until my legs burned. I stomped up the basement stairs. And then I flung myself into bed.
If you didn't gather, I was mad the entire time. The next day, after I had time to think objectively about why I was so mad, I got sad ... because I was mad at myself. I was mad that I needed to exercise so badly. I was mad that I don't like exercising while others revel in it. I was mad that I can't breathe when I exercise and that I hurt when I exercise. I was mad, bro.
I'm not sure how to conquer that anger, but I know I can't let it be an excuse like the weather. I imagine that at some point the ridiculousness of stomping up and down the basement stairs will dawn on me and I'll just walk like a normal person. Maybe I'll stop being mad when my pants fit better and I have more energy. Maybe I'll never stop being mad. Maybe that should be my motivation.
Cross your fingers for me if you're so inclined. Send positive vibes my way. I'm to the point where I want to want to exercise, so that's something! I just need to figure out how to exercise.