I walked tonight. On the treadmill. In the basement. For 30 minutes.
To many, this is such a small deal. To me, it’s not. It’s a big deal. My relationship with exercise is a love/hate thing. I love the way it makes me feel. I love the way it eases my stress levels. I love that it helps my body to look more presentable. I hate doing it. I hate sweating. I hate that I’m sore afterwards. I hate that I can’t find the time to do it. To be honest, the hate side of this list could go on and on and on.
The point being that even though I have an extreme dislike for exercise, I still got on the treadmill. And I’m coming to realize that if I want to live to a ripe old age and still possibly be able to bend over after 40, I should exercise. So, I am slowly wrapping my mind around the concept that this is not a temporary solution. I am not exercising to lose the next 20 pounds. This has to be a regular part of my life. Everyday. (This is me-growling under my breath.)
The kids love going down to the basement while I walk. They kick the soccer ball, bat off the tee, and ride tricycles. So, I can’t even use them as an excuse not to go down there. I know in my heart that they’ll love it even more if I can run around like a crazy person with them and if I’m still alive when they’re fifty. So, for now, I get on the treadmill. I walk. I’m going to take it one day at a time and just keep on walking. Maybe one day, I’ll get somewhere.