Getting in (Some Kind of) Shape

by Stephanie Black

I’ve been pretty good about exercising over the past few weeks. I didn’t do it every day over the holidays, of course, but I still exercised a respectable number of times. (I also ate buckets of Christmas goodies, but maybe the exercise canceled out two or three of those chocolate-covered almond clusters and cinnamon rolls).

In the past, I’ve been intermittent with my exercise habits. I’d have a good spell, then a dry spell, then start up again, then drop off again. Exercise has never been my favorite thing. When I took that nasty Fitness for Life class at BYU (they don’t put freshman through that anymore, do they? I hope not) where we had to exercise on our own and keep a record of it, I’d procrastinate my exercise so long that I’d end up doing aerobics in the wee hours of the morning. A friend gave me a Far Side Mug labeled “Aerobics in Hell,” where a demon instructor tells his class: “Three more, two more, one more, okay! . . . Five million leglifts right leg first! . . . Ready, set! . . . ” I could relate.

But now, considering the bad news I keep getting at doctor’s appointments, I’m feeling more motivated to exercise consistently. I exercise at home on our Elliptical. My husband goes to a gym near his work, but I prefer the home thing. If I had to get myself ready to go out in public, get my preschooler ready, drive to the gym, drop her off in childcare, exercise, go pick her up—forget it. I just wouldn’t do it. And I wouldn’t want to do it while she’s in preschool, either—yeah, I can just picture myself saying, “Hey, I have no children at home right now! I think I’ll go spend this time exercising.” Then I’d laugh, plop down on the couch, and eat a donut. Anyway, home workouts work for me. I like being able to throw on an old T-shirts, ugly pants, whatever—yesterday I was wearing Halloween socks—and hop on the machine. I can get my heart pumping and read a book while I do it, and in half an hour, I’m done. It’s not the Workout of the Stars, but it’s a nice bit of cardio. That’s “nice” as in “good for me” not as in “This is my favorite time of the day! I love exercise! It makes me feel so good!”

I do hear rumors of a “runner’s high” that some people get from exercise, but I also hear that the Ten Tribes are in the center of the earth. Okay, kidding, I acknowledge that a runner’s high exists. I’m just bitter that I don’t get it. My sister-in-law loves exercising—gets a stress-relieving endorphin rush from it, to which I can only say: “Huh?” I have never experienced this phenomenon. And neither have any of my siblings or parents. Must be a genetic thing, and our genes are more interested in the feeding trough than the treadmill. My dad ran an entire stinking marathon and never got a runner’s high.

It’s a dang shame I don’t get this endorphin thing. I’d probably be a lot skinnier if I did. But I’ll keep up my exercising, since endorphins or not, I don’t want to void the warranty on my body quite yet. I’m grateful I can exercise and hope to be able to keep it up for a good many decades to come.

Discussion question: Do you suppose our ancestors look at us and think that it's goofier than heck that we plant our sedentary bodies on machines that go nowhere and do nothing, just to get us moving enough to stay healthy? I'm betting the pioneers didn't have this issue.