Falling Off the Wagon

Okay, let's be real. There wasn't much of a wagon to fall from. I've never been a huge fan of organized exercise. I'm not a person to jump off the couch and embrace the prospect of a nice long run or a bike ride miles long. My tennis partner (yes, tennis is exercise I can enthusiastically buy into- fun, good exercise, I have some aptitude for it) every once in a while tries to convince me to take a cardio tennis class with her. Tennis is hard enough without trying to purposefully inject more cardiovascular exercise into it. I keep telling her she's trying to make me into a better person. Not interested.

There was a time when exercise was different for me. I used to go to the local Y and do the whole Stairmaster, Nautilus, sit-ups thing. I met a great friend at that gym. Then, after a particularly bad time in my 20s, exercise was my salvation. I'd plug myself into a Walkman and walk, walk, walk for miles around my neighborhood. I've never been much of a traditional meditation practitioner and this was meditation for me.

But, these days, it seems like exercise gets pre-empted by everything. Literally everything. Last year, I told myself that when my daughter was in preschool two mornings a week I could get it together to exercise at least the Thursday morning. I went to the gym a total of two times. Two. And the home routine lasted all of about four weeks.

I was okay with my fair-weather exercise "plan." Until the great Wii incident of 2008. On a holiday visit to family, my husband and I had the opportunity to engage in the merriment of their new Wii. Golf...bowling...tennis, we did it all. And we also tried out the fitness modular which, for those of you who aren't familiar, weighs you (check!), figures your BMI (check! ideal, by the way), gives you a balance test, and assigns you a Wii Fitness age. What was my age? 55! Yes, 55! I was horrified. I did flunk the balance test- I'm not exactly known for my grace- because I went first and had no idea what to expect. Horrifying! I generally feel about 23 or 24. Sometimes the body feels like its closer-to-reality 40 years. But 55?? Doubly horrifying since my husband clocked in at 34.

So I'm back on the fitness trail. I can't wait until tennis season begins again. Or the snow melts and we can bike to the park. Thank goodness for a friend/personal trainer who put together a routine for me last year which can be accomplished in about 15 minutes in front of the TV. I'm dusting it off after a 7 month hiatus. And I did go to the gym last week, Nano plugged in now instead of Walkman. And I consider snow shoveling to be one of the few perks of the winter season. Until April, I'll try. And then gladly (joyously!) pick up my tennis racquet again and keep fending off invitations to cardio tennis.