I'm in the Fitness Protection Programme

I'm in the Fitness Protection Programme
24 October 2013

I’m currently hiding out.  Trying to protect my anonymity.  Hiding in plain sight.  Hoping to blend in.  To draw no unnecessary attention to myself.

First rule – make no eye contact.  I’m in the Fitness Protection Programme.

I absolutely abhor exercise.  In any shape, form or manner.  And it’s not really difficult to deduce why – I’m lazy.  There!  I’ve said it.  Now shoot me.  Go ahead!   I don’t make a difficult target – it’s not as if I’m fit enough to run.

I don’t like to exert myself physically.  I don’t understand the exercise euphoria I’ve heard people talking about.  How addictive it can become.  How you simply need your daily fix.  It simply makes no logical sense.  But then again, I’m inherently lazy.  I really, really am.  I’d far rather read a book, or watch a movie.  Alternatively, watching paint dry is more exhilarating and even a root canal holds more appeal.

If I run, it can only mean that someone is chasing me.  In fact, I am so bad at running, as to appear comical.  Apparently.  How rude!  When my kids are feeling bored and need a good laugh, they ask me to run in the front garden.  And I’m nothing, if not a sport.  And so, every so often, if I’m feeling indulgent, I’ll do just that – indulge them.  And boy do they love it.  They make themselves comfortable on the stoep.  Sitting is advised, as they may fall over in laughter if standing up.  They actually stop just short of getting snacks.  But perhaps that is more due to the fact that “the show” I give them is so exceptionally short.  I wish I could say that I streak past them with long legged grace.  But, I really, really, really don’t.  Apparently it’s part gallop, part who knows what.  My arms flail.  My legs appear not operational.  And in addition to that I think the wheezing is pretty amusing too.  What can I say?  I’ve raised truly awful kids, who enjoy laughing at their mother.  Worst of all, I’ve probably actively indulged them in this hobby of theirs.

Getting out of breath because you’re exercising, leaves me emotionally cold, even though I’d feel physically hot.  Why do it?

The gym holds no appeal whatsoever.  As in nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Zero.  And any other word that means nothing, starting with a “z”.  And more than likely this is due to the fact that in order to gym, you have to appear in skin tight, figure hugging clothes.  I’d feel self-conscious, and I’m pretty sure I’d suck at whatever the gym threw at me.  Exercising with groups of people in a class, like Zumba, or something, would not help either.  I’d appear uncoordinated and would have to slunk and hide in the back of the class.  A pretty difficult thing to accomplish, given the propensity of gyms to have mirrors all around.  I’d be that one person in the back that steps left, when everyone else is stepping right.  Yip, that would be me.

What makes this all particularly funny, is the fact that my kids seem to like exercise, sport, dancing, etc.  Of their own accord?  There is my eldest son, the hockey-mad-A-team-playing whiz, who has a passion for soccer and enjoys running around outside playing either soccer, hockey or cricket.  Unprovoked!  There is my very coordinated daughter, who thrives whilst doing dancing.  And my youngest kid is just sports mad.  I can’t actually think that I’ve ever seen him just walking.  The pace is way too slow for him.  He tends to run, gallop, skip, sprint, etc.  Most often, whilst making bowling movements with at least one arm.  Truly odd!  And if it wasn’t for the fact that I was physically there, conscious when each one of them was born, I would doubt the fact that they were even mine.

Every so often, I dabble with the idea of exercising.  And of getting fit.  I have visions of slimness.  Lean, supple muscles.  Experiencing the exercise adrenaline high for myself. 

And then I just sit down, until the feeling passes again.

 

And to be honest, I've given the exercise thing the odd bash over the years.  Though to be fair, I've never really truly committed.  I've done lengthy walks with friends - but the main exercise is actually given to my jaw, as we jabber the whole way long.  I've done power plate, where I jiggled my bits.  And many, many, many moons ago, in my late teens and early twenties, I actually gave a small gym a try.  It was NOT true love.  I still can't quite visualise the bit where I go from burning chest, aching muscles, wheezing lungs, lame feeling in legs, floaty pass-out sensation and spots in front of my eyes, to a place of pleasure.  And so perhaps I've always given up too easily.

Still, in lieu of traditional exercise, I lift Jumping Castles for a living.  And hence I’m actually ridiculously strong.  Humongous muscle power in my arms and maybe by coincidence in my legs too.

The marvellous by-product of which, is that my physical prowess, helps to keep my husband in line…..  I’d take that skinny boy down!

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