Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Why oh WHY Must History Repeat Itself????

I've never been one to be "in" to exercise.  Physical activity isn't something I long for or make a priority in my life.  Sure, there have been times when I set my mind to being more physically fit  and like anything I set out to do - I do it to the extreme. 

Like the time back in the late 80's where I got all addicted to aerobics.  Maybe it was the cute attire, or the side pony tail, or maybe the leg warmers or the Richard Simmons reeboks.   Or maybe I just really found myself enjoying the way my body was taking shape.  But all I know is what started out as a twice a week stint, turned into a 6 day a week addiction.  I was such an addict that 15 minutes after having a gun held to my head during a bank robbery, I asked the KBI agent how long the inquiry was going to take because I really had an aerobics class to get to.  Got shit to do people - let's move this investigation along.  We're all alive - now let's get going!

Or the time in the late 90's when I joined a gym.  And went every single night and twice on Saturdays.  All so I could wear those pale yellow Rockies - I called them my butter jeans.  Because my ass looked yummy as butter in them.  I even won a best butt contest at the bar.  Of course, I may have been the only person there that night - but I don't really remember that part so we won't focus on that.  After the blonde was born, my ass looked like melted butter in them, so I gave them to Goodwill and determined NO ONE should EVER wear pale yellow, pocketless jeans. 

And then there was the time just about two years ago when I set out to exercise because I felt like shit.  My knees and hips hurt from sitting in a fucking chair 11 hours a day while working.  And it started small - with the Wii Fit.  And then expanded to the Wii Active.  And then I took my gig to the great outdoors and walked.  And walked.  And walked.  And then a pack of wild dogs (no shit) attacked a woman in the vicinity, so I stopped walking outside and got a treadmill.  And I walked on it.  Daily.  Every day pushing myself to go just a little further.  If you can do 20 minutes, you can do 30 minutes and if you haven't died at 30 minutes, you can go 45 and fuck it - just keep going girl - you walk on that treadmill ALL day!  You ROCK!! 

Sometime around Christmas last year, I stopped walking.  I'm trying to remember why, exactly.  I can never recall WHY I stop engaging in good habits.  So this time I'm giving it some good thought.  I recall my tennis shoes needed replaced. And the ones I had were so comfortable, but they stopped selling them - Under Armour Women's running shoes for people with high arches.  L.O.V.E.  Can no longer find them.  Of course.  Just like a favorite lipstick color or mascara - gone without notice.  So I bought a pair of those Reebok tone-ups or something like that.  And those little bastards hurt the balls of my feet so badly that I returned them within a week and bought a pair of Ecco tennis shoes.  Which ALSO hurt my feet.  So I think that was originally the first step toward the end of walking career.  Feet hurt.  Cannot walk. 

And then, as I recall, the Prodigal Son broke the treadmill.  He has a knack for breaking shit.  Always has.  That child could look at something that belongs to me from across the room and fuck it up completely.  Well, I pitched a big ass fit over this broken treadmill and demanded the husband get it fixed RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT BECAUSE I'M USING IT.  And so he found someone to come fix it - RIGHT THAT INSTANT - and I've never been on it since.  I believe that was in early January 2011. 

My legs are feeling weak.  My back is hurting again.  My posture is looking sloppy.  And I have smoked so many fucking cigarettes in the last 3 months that I can't breathe.  So, I'm thinking it's time to start up that heinous habit of walking again but now I'm cussing myself because I know how damned hard the first few weeks are going to be.  Why the hell do I allow this to happen?  Over and over again. 

I've walked out to the end of my driveway a few times recently and gazed up the hill that looms ahead of me if I were to walk outside.  That hill is a bitch.  It kicked my ass when I was in good shape.  I'm not sure I could make it up it right at the moment without stopping for a smoke and a beer about 1/2 way.  But today I am determined.  I'm going to take my fat dog and put his ass on a leash and walk up that hill.  I may not make it up that hill.  And I may only make it as far as the top of the hill and no further.  But it has to be done.  And if I'm moving slow or stopping along the way, I'll just make it look like it's the dog slowing me down and not actually me needing a break. 

And also I'll cuss myself the entire way - this is what you get for indulging in bad habits in excess for so many months.  You like beer?  You like whiskey?  You like to smoke?  And sit on your ass and float in the pool?  Well, this is the payback you get for that you lazy ass, velveeta whore. 

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