I have allowed myself to get a little out of shape over the past couple of years. It’s the usual story: I don’t exercise enough, I don’t eat properly, and I spend way too much time just sitting around letting my body absorb into the couch.
My days of running after the ice cream truck are long over. I still want the ice cream, but there is no longer anything in my life that is so important that it deserves more than a determined walk.
The other day, I was doing some yardwork and I almost passed out while trying to dig up a dead tree. It was actually quite a small tree, to be honest. In fact, it could probably be better described as a large bush. It was the kind of plant I have ripped out a hundred times before, only this time the tree almost won the battle of who will be the end of whom.
Part of the problem is age. I’m getting older. There is a reason that most professional athletes retire in their thirties and forties. The body begins to slow down, injuries take longer to heal, and it is much harder to keep yourself in top physical condition. But although this is a contributing factor, let’s get real, I never really set the bar that high when I was in my twenties. I could work my way through a push up or two without joint damage or causing myself heart palpitations, but that was about it. I wasn’t going to the Olympics to represent team USA; not unless they introduced new events like TV watching or cramming Oreos into your mouth. I might have been a serious contender in those categories.
I need to work out more. That’s the long and short of the situation. But it has been difficult finding something I can build a routine around and reliably stick to.
My wife wakes up before the sun rises and goes running most mornings. I don’t like running … or the cold, or the dark, or waking up before noon. So, that’s out.
My old gym is too far away. I have no desire to drive for forty-five minutes to work out for a half hour, then drive home. That’s a waste of time that I could be spending more productively catching up on reruns of Friends and shoving something fattening down my throat.
I tried walking around the neighborhood for a while. That was okay, except for the days when it rained, or was too hot, or too windy, or a sci-fi movie marathon was airing on television. That leaves about eight perfect walking days each year. But otherwise, not happening.
I bought some free weights and put them in our spare room. They have been a remarkable success at holding the carpet in place on the floor. I would hate to pick one of them up now and ruin their perfect record. They have become part of the décor in the room, and just like I don’t pick up the couch and shove it around every day, the weights aren’t going anywhere either.
I also bought a stationary bicycle. I put it upstairs so I don’t have to trip over it or be reminded that I own a stationary bicycle. Every couple of months, I walk up the stairs with the idea that I will get a little bit of exercise. After standing on the landing trying to catch my breath for a few minutes, I stare at the bike and tell myself, “Nope. That’s enough of a work out for today.” Then I go back downstairs to search through the pantry to reward myself for my good intentions.
Maybe I need to just accept the fact that I am on that long, slow decline into death. It doesn’t need to be a deep dark thought. It can be a pleasant realization. It’s a natural part of human existence, after all. It is as inevitable as me eating a bacon cheeseburger.
Which brings us to the second part of my death-spiral equation: my eating habits.
I know I should eat better, but let’s face it, eating healthy is a lot of work. It requires meal planning, careful shopping, and cooking. These are all skills in which I am sorely lacking. My forte is microwave dinners, waffles, and fast food drive-throughs. On a good day, I can throw together a couple of scrambled eggs and make some toast.
I once watched a cooking show on television that challenged viewers to make a complete meal with items they already had in their freezer. I popped open my freezer but was at a complete loss over what to make using frozen peas, ice cubes, and a dead hamster that I had forgotten to bury. I finally resorted to a bowl of cold cereal. I ate it dry because I had neglected to buy milk that week.
Like I said, planning and shopping are not my strengths.
My crappy diet isn’t a new thing, either. I’ve been eating poorly since I was a kid. Fast food, sweets, starches, and soft drinks have been my staples for years, and I don’t anticipate that is really going to change anytime soon.
My mom once tried to get me to eat spinach by telling me that Popeye ate spinach and it made him really strong. I told her that a dung beetle can lift ten times its own weight, but I wasn’t going to eat any of that either.
I would like to eat better. I would like to exercise and be in better shape. I want to be around for many more years to watch my kids get married and have kids of their own.
I also want to eat an entire chocolate cake by myself.
We’ll see which way it goes.