Along with dieting, I had promised Helaine that I’d spend time exercising. Exercise is something I have successfully avoided my entire life.
I am not an athlete. When I was a kid, and sides were being chosen for punchball (In Flushing, a hugely popular baseball derivative played with a hollow pink rubber ball), everyone hoped for an odd number of kids so I wouldn’t have to play. Even I knew my limitations.
The older I got, the more sedentary I became. That’s probably true of most adults. I know I should exercise, but… well, if it was fun, everyone would do it – me included. Plus, there are other more important things to do.
OK – I pretty much felt anything was more important. Look, it’s a new Ron Popeil infomercial.
But, as I said, I promised. So, over the past few weeks I have been hitting the treadmill. I had written here on the blog that when I finished, rather than feeling better, I felt like I was going to die. I got an email from my physician, Steve. He had read the blog and told me how wrong I was.
Sometimes I hate the truth.
OK – I hear you all. I’m trying. Honest I am. At least 3-4 times a week I’m moving my legs, sweating like a pig, feeling like George Jetson over the closing credits.
I haven’t increased the time I spend on the treadmill, but I have increased the time I spend sprinting. A few days ago, while going for coffee, I picked up the sidewalk pace and was surprised to not be winded. In fact I am sure I have more stamina when jogging on the treadmill than I did when I started.
Is this life extension? Who knows. There are statistics that say it should be, but individuals don’t live statistical averages. Our lives are comprised of what scientists call anecdotal incidents, each of which could easily diverge from the average.
What I’m saying is, if I keel over from all this exercising I’ll really be upset.
Blogger’s note: I am now down to 174 pounds. I have passed my weightloss goal, but will continue at least until our July vacation.