Wow, am I out of shape.
You don't realize how much exercise you get in the course of working retail until you're not working retail any more.
Yesterday, we helped Eva's brother and his family move. Well, "helped" is probably overstating things a tad. There were lots of people, all the possessions were already in a pod in the driveway of the new house, and it seemed like at least seventy percent of that pod went into the garage. I carried maybe twenty things, only a few of them anything that could reasonably be called "heavy"...and I had to stop halfway through for a drink and a break. I was disgusted with myself.
I'm stronger than I look. (Yeah, well, smell ain't everything, bud.) No, seriously, I can summon more strength than you'd think. My problem is more co-ordination and depth perception than anything else--give me something awkward to move, that need to be placed just so if it's going to get into a house without denting a wall...and somebody else better take that thing in.
But yesterday, now? That was a wake-up call. My next job is going to be sedentary, and I'm sedentary as a very sedentary thing indeed right now. Time to fix that.
What I do have in abundance for the moment is time. I'm leery of biting off more than I can chew, especially with so many life changes I'm going through right now: something will inevitably get lost in the shuffle. I am notorious for starting things on a high and never carrying through, especially when those things involve pain.
I have friends who do this. Actually, they had the first Spartan wedding ever held in Canada a couple of months ago...right at the finish line. I admire the hell out of them for their dedication to the sport...but at the same time I look at the scrapes and bruises they cheerfully post pics of and I think of how awful that feeling of not being able to breathe properly after running is, and I just wilt. I mean, sure, it must get better. But the whole idea of working out in general is, if it's not hurting you're not doing it enough. My target heart rate is 125 bpm. At that intensity I think it would just jitterbug its way right out of my chest and skip off down the street.
So: let's start off small. I was going to do five pushups and five sit-ups this morning, thinking that (a) it takes next to no time and (b) it's modest enough that I shouldn't have a problem with it. I can add one of each every day, or do ten and ten next week, or...however it works out. The key, I think, is to commit to a few minutes every day. I can do that.
The push-ups were a cinch, so much so I did ten instead. The sit-ups were excruciating.
Somebody watching would have laughed, They wouldn't have been able to help themselves. I did two sit-ups and then let the room stop spinning. Probably laid there for a minute, feeling dejected: this is pathetic. Then I got angry and whipped off three more, bangbangbang whew.
I think back to those Canada
Fitness Awards
we used to be subjected to in school. I did it when the 'endurance run' was part of it, and I managed the Award of Excellence for that particular event. I think I got a bronze for push-ups one year, but otherwise all my 'awards' were purple participation badges. Sit-ups have always been my biggest challenge, for some reason.
Eva's got a rower downstairs I'm going to start using, a little at a time: I'm going to enlist her in making sure I follow through with that. And we'll just keep adding as it gets easier over time.
It does get easier over time...right?
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