Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – May 20, 2004
The Anti-Progress Report
Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – May 20, 2004 – I am not a Catholic, but I’m building a confessional in my home. I need a place to unburden myself when it comes to my lack of progress on the exercise front. It’s not all my fault, Howard is sick. He’s only four months old and already he’s had a break down. Perhaps my negative attitude transferred to him as I walked back and forth past his room.
Finally he just couldn’t take it anymore. His calibration apparatus failed. He’s kaput. I’ve been waiting since the last week of April for the treadmill doctor to appear to perform a re-calibration. I attempted one, but without the necessary training, it was pointless. Howard just stood there, a pathetic shadow of his former self. I’ve been so distraught watching his descent into de-calibration that I’ve been unable to use either of my other exercise machines. What would Howard think? That he’s a has-been of course. I’ve studiously avoided my work-out room all month in deference to Howard’s feelings, and I think I’ve done the right thing.
Now you can see why I need a confessional. It’s been an abysmal month on the exercise front, compounded by an intense craving for chocolate. If I put on any more weight, “roly-poly” will no longer suffice as a description of my womanly figure, I’ll have to progress to fat-babe status.
However, I remain hopeful of a complete turn around in my attitude and my pudginess, once Howard is on his feet again. I know it’s hard to believe but I am going to be successful this year in setting up an exercise program. However, if anyone is considering my specific methodology, it may be wise to re-group. I started my program on January 24th and to date I’ve exercised on twenty-six occasions. Now let’s see as a percentage, this is a mere 22% of the time. I haven’t exercise once this month – it has been an absolute wash. However, I’m heartened by my willingness to face this exercise avoidance dilemma head on, and address it here.
I actually signed an exercise contract with myself this past January. That’s how hopeful I was feeling a few months ago. In the meantime, I’ve spent most of my time working and too little time devoted to the commitment I made to my health. Right now, just the thought of exercise is more than I can bear. Maybe I wasn’t born to be an active woman. After all, in cave man days there were the hunters (men), the gatherers (women) and the stay in the cave types – also women.
Someone had to sit by the fire, stir the pot and taste the broth to see if the gruel was bubbling. Perhaps I come from a long line of hide-stitchers and pot stirrers and am genetically pre-disposed to sitting for long periods of time. Or maybe, unbeknownst to myself, I’ve fallen into a period of deep despair that has chemically altered my metabolism, rendering me unable to exercise.
The only other possibility is that I’m a big talker who is pretending to be concerned with my health and my fitness regimen. I don’t like to think that, but it may be the truth. If I wanted to work out, I would make it a priority and fit it into my schedule. I’m sure that once Howard is better, my commitment to daily walking will return with a vengeance, and next month’s progress report will be aglow with tales of work-out glory. Alternatively, you may find me in my confessional with a pair of spandex tights at the ready and my sneakers clutched in one hand – just in case … Stay tuned!