In the spirit of Jason's honesty and Five Full Plate's fun with mental illness, I have a confession to make.
At 6 a.m. this morning, I fought the elliptical, and the elliptical won.
I used to work reasonably consistently to make sure my heart knew that sitting in the recliner, watching Food Network, was not all that the Good Lord created it to do. I am never going to win a swimsuit competition, but I used to be able to hang in aerobic exercise, you know?
And then ... I don't know what happened. Laziness? Yes. Busyness? Definitely. General lack of interest? Cannot be denied.
Back in June? July? I did 35 minutes on the elliptical machine - didn't work up to it, would just randomly decide Today is a Day for the YMCA and go do 35 minutes on the elliptical. And a couple of times I even left thinking, I really didn't get that great of a work-out. I probably need to add to what I'm doing.
Today, struggling beside my friend who had a baby SEVEN WEEKS AGO (not that it's a competition, but seriously?!), I had to stop at 14 minutes. Had to had to had to, my legs and half-hungry, half water-logged stomach insisted on it. FOURTEEN MINUTES. Exactly nineteen minutes below where I was without even trying a few months ago.
I did keep moving - sit-ups and push-ups and laps around the complex, to make myself feel better. But clearly fourteen minutes is not acceptable.
Lest you are tempted to comment about losing weight, let me be clear - I'm not trying to lose weight. I'm trying to keep the bone mass I have, build a little muscle, lose a little flab. I would like to be the kind of grandma who can hang on whatever the 2035 version of Wii Fit is, which means I first have to be the kind of woman who can go longer than FOURTEEN MINUTES on the elliptical.
That's okay. The elliptical can have its fun now, taunting me with its little neon green dots and fictitious numbers. Today it won, but only today. I shall overcome.