I know that writing about exercise after my last post makes it seem like I’m beginning to live and promote a healthy lifestyle, and I just cannot in good conscience let that assumption stand uncorrected.
I promise I’m not turning into a fitness blogger. If I were ever to start waxing on about subjects on which I have no grounds to speak, such as portion control, stretching before exercise, motivational quotes, and self-love, you have permission to slap me in the face. (Offer only available for the next few days, as I just took my last final Thursday and have since lost all sensation in my… being.)
But now that I’m home, I wanted to look back on aspects of my experience exercising in college, specifically the part where it was practically nonexistent. Exercising is tough when the only public gym is on the other side of campus and also when your room is so small that that one time you and your roommate stood at your respective beds and bent down at the waist to pick up different things, your butts actually touched. Might I add it’s also difficult when you’re really creative with your excuses.
One day in February I woke up to my roommate’s alarm and simply could not for the life of me come up with a valid reason not to walk down to the gym, so I grudgingly made the trek. Upon sight of the treadmills, I experienced the satisfaction I’m assuming most people feel post-workout and would have left immediately, had it not taken so long to get there.
Me, trying to hold myself accountable through texting Friend: guess who’s at the gym
Me: honestly it’s so embarrassing how proud of myself I am
Basically, I burned the equivalent of 2/3 of a Hershey’s Kiss and then ate even more food than usual because now I was tired, hungry, and entitled.
Seeing as the more I exercised, the more I needed to, I cut my losses and pushed regular workouts to the summer, a decision I, of course, regret now. This afternoon I tried going to a fitness center’s heart-monitored “group personal training” hour-long workout with my mom. The rationale was that while I might not listen to myself, I respect other people’s advice, especially when they’re shouting it at me.
At this fitness center, they have a screen that displays everyone’s names/heart rates and awards a point for every minute spent in your target zone (a level above your base rate that allegedly ups your metabolism even post-workout) or your push zone (a level above target, AKA where you’re dying.)
I burned ~650 calories and got 15 target points/0 push points, most of which were from the rowing machine (simulates rowing a boat), and I think Mom burned ~450, with 1 target/16 push. She got all those points from the treadmill, on which I, in contrast, promptly lost all will to live. While I guess you could frame it as us having different strengths, rowing seems comparatively less applicable a skill than being able to run comfortably for longer than 10 minutes. I mean, what am I supposed to do about a rampaging bear? Row away?
Basically, today I learned I’m in less in shape than people decades my senior during what’s supposed to be the prime of my life. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected—the truth was just a lot easier to ignore when I just avoided working out entirely. But when finally faced with hard evidence of my profoundly inadequate cardio and overall poor health, I realized what I had to do. The only logical next step, I believe, is to carry around a canoe with me wherever I go.
Please help me out and like my page on Facebook! Good karma could help you out on that final/whatever you’re stressing about.
(Featured image from thedailymail.com)