Bodyworks

I have been working out since I was 13. I went to a class called "Bodyworks" with my mother. It was held at the Moose Club. We did a lot of leg lifts and sit ups. We wore leotards and tights with leg warmers.

Working out was always imperative for me. In high school I was so paranoid about being fat that I would go home and put on the soundtrack to Footloose or Flashdance and just dance around until I was an exhausted, sweaty mess. Since then, I have graduated to step-aerobics, biking, running, swimming, boxing, kickboxing, Tae Bo, dance classes, yoga, and hula hooping. I've worshiped at the altars of Jane Fonda, Billy Blanks, Kathy Smith, Gilad, Gaiam, Crunch, and Steve Ross. I have worked out so hard that I couldn't sleep (and subsequently couldn't wake up the next day). I have worked out so hard that I puked. And I've even run a marathon. With a broken foot.

I could always get myself to do it. Even now when I am at my most unmotivated (congratulations, Joanna!), I can still get myself to take the dog on long vigorous hikes several times a week.

Exercise is harder than it has ever been. And it is getting harder by the day. The more out of shape I get, the harder it is to get back into shape. I've been blaming it on age, but something struck me the other day. Something so glaringly obvious that it actually made me laugh. It's not just harder because I'm older. It's harder because I'm fatter!

I'd like to tell you a holiday story now. This is the story of New Years Eve, 2010.

On the eve of the new year, I decided to turn over a new leaf. Enough was enough. I was going for a run. I took my dog to a trail, and we ran. Slowly. For three miles.

After the run, I had a million errands to do. Instead of taking a break and getting lunch and taking the time to rehydrate, I just went on my errands. Eventually I found myself in Barnes & Noble feeling light headed and dehydrated. But I pushed on because what I was doing was important.

What was I doing?

I was buying books about disordered eating and living well. I spent almost $100 on books, grabbed a bag of candy and a sports drink at the drug store so I wouldn't pass out, and headed home. Thirty minutes later I was puking up good'n'plenty and Gatorade. I spent the next three days in bed with a horrible stomach flu, which led directly to a terrible upper respiratory infection and then to a sinus infection.

The irony is not lost on me. I set out to get healthy, and I wound up sick.

But here is the thing. I've made this same series of bad decisions in the past. I've worked out too hard after months of not working out at all. I've skipped meals after workouts. And I've gotten away with it.

So yes, it's harder now that I'm older. But age aside, it's harder than it's ever been because I'm fatter than I've ever been. I felt every step I took on that run. I felt it in my joints. I felt it in my muscles. And I felt it in my fat.

Today I was reminded of one more fun fact. My metabolism has slowed down. My metabolism, which was never going to win any races to begin with, is now operating at a snail's pace. So I've got that going for me.

Today was also weigh-in day. (I'm still in the habit even though I quit weightwatchers weeks ago.) I've gained 3.3 pounds since last week. Apparently all that socializing did me in after all. (Either that, or it was the pound of M&Ms I ate in the car. Who can say for sure?)

So it looks like my 30-by-40 plan needs some amping up. Exercise may be required after all. Apparently I don't burn enough calories crocheting hats and watching television to cancel out my Lindt chocolate "Touch of Sea Salt" habit.

So what's the plan? I guess it's time to buy some really baggy clothes and hit the gym. In which case, you can expect my next few entries to include a large serving of anger with a side of bitterness.

Next up: Why I Hate the Gym