Years ago, when I was still young enough to know pretty much everything but physics and chemistry because hello totally boring school subjects that were clearly meant for Other People, I was convinced that women my age were whiners. I remember a couple of nice women at work who would sit at our communal lunch table and talk about calories, coupons, and trying to fit a walk in between dinner, homework, and kids’ bedtimes.
In other words, they talked about stuff that didn’t have anything to do with early-20’s me.
I remember thinking how dumb they were when it came to the walk and calorie talk. I had it all figured out.
When I was young, I knew everything.
I used to know everything about exercising and everything else (like parenting). Basically, on Thursday, to lose five pounds by Monday, one simply needed to skip dinner each night, go for a longer bike ride, and boom. Done. Once, when I had the guts to say to them that I had perfected the method for weight loss, and that maybe they should simply try not eating after 4pm, they shared a look between themselves, and mostly-gently told me that I’d understand when I was older.
They said things like “metabolism changes as you age.” And “one day, you’ll understand.” I rolled my eyes and continued to stuff my face with a burrito that I’d asked for extra sour cream on because well, everybody knows sour cream is the key to toning down the spice of the extra pork-green chili I’d also ordered.
Back then, I rode my bike to and from work each day because I didn’t yet have a car. Granted, if there was more than an inch or two of snow on the ground, I’d grudgingly ride the bus, but that was never ideal. It actually took longer to travel the route on the bus than it did on my bike. I also got hit by a car a couple of times, but that’s not the point of this particular story. I never really thought about riding my bike 30-ish miles each day as a form of exercise. I just did it. Sometimes, I went for extra-long bike rides on the weekends, too, just because it was fun.
Anyway, fast forward to now-me. Turns out, those bitches were right about metabolism slowing down when we age. They were right about the five pounds (or ten) being way more difficult to lose than skipping a few dinner meals was. While I concede that I no longer ride my bike to work, and that most of my exercising comes from playing chase with my four-year-old son, kegels, and bopping to music in the car, not eating past 4pm does nothing these days. Hardly eating anything at all does nothing these days, either.
These days, I can’t simply skimp on a few dinners beginning Thursday and lose five pounds by Monday. Nothing happens. Nothing. In fact, I tried it a few weeks back to look better for the Listen to Your Mother Show and gained ½ pound. It’s like my middle-aged body is getting back at me for being such an asshole to it all these years.
Now, in order to lose weight, I actually have to exercise, exercise. Not just kegels. Or butt crunches. I have to stuff my ginormous bouncing boobies into a straightjacket, slap on some ankle supports, and use the elliptical machines at the gym in the totally unfun way (as in, when your eyeballs are going around and around too fast to effectively read a magazine while ellipticalling).
When I actually do make it to the gym, I don’t mind the weight machines. Mostly because I can sit on one for 12 to 15 minutes before anybody realizes I’m not “resting between reps.” In other words, I really need to get my fatass back to the gym.
Sadly, my favorite form of exercise is to toss and turn, hoping to fall back asleep each morning before my son comes in to “sing me” his Wake-Up Song. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get re-motivated before BlogHer. Or, not.
What about you? What’s your favorite form of exercise?
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday Post. Today’s sentence has been brought to you by the most excellent Allison Carter, of Go Dansker Mom. Please show her some extra love.