I have never been an athletic type. I have always rather hated the smug, exercising population, and found them to be too, I don’t know, too something annoying.
A thing about being 30: I cannot eat dessert and not gain 5 lbs anymore. Also, I don’t have my stand all day job anymore, so I am particularly prone to squishyness. Another thing about being 30: my health is more important to me than it has ever been. I have accepted mortality. I want to see Pearl into college at least.
So I have set about being an exercising person. I take walks. I normally walk 3 miles. I try to walk at a consistent speed of 3.5-4 mph, so I am normally finished in a bit under an hour. I like to do this every day, but occasionally take a day off when my legs hurt too badly. I expect this will stop happening as I continue walking, and also that I will eventually walk more miles in the same amount of time.
Brad and I also play badminton, which, considering the low-impact weight and resistance of the sport, is remarkably good exercise and I always feel it in my sides and tummy the next day.
I used to walk with my friend. Then life kicked us both in our fannies and now we do not walk together anymore.
Blah blah, the point is, I get it! I have had these eureka moments wherein I catch myself self-talking to “push it” the last mile, or just really wanting to do better than I did yesterday. All the stuff my PE teachers admonished me to do. All the stuff that I always kind of thought, “hmmm. That’s weird. Why should I intentionally hurt myself just because my parents’ tax money is paying you to tell me to?” The stuff the other girls learned when they played field hockey or whatever other team sport.
Know what? I’m also joining Roller Derby
. A team sport. Who knew? It’s gonna rule.
I really like moving around. I feel really good when I’m all sweaty after. I love exercising.
I like it so much that today I did research about fat people jogging. People yell at me when I call myself fat, but it’s true. I’m at least 50 lbs overweight, and that is counting back to my college low of a size 6, at which I still–weight wise–was in the obese squares on the height/weight charts.
It’s okay. I own it, and owning it is the first step to working on it. Take that, chub!