Where Are We Going, and Why Are We All In This Handbasket?!

And so it begins. The obligatory girlie-blog post about fitness or the lack thereof.

If you've ever seen me, you know that Lexx ain't no pixie. All my life I've been a chubby piece of Heaven. Don't get me wrong. I'm not downing myself or anything. I think I'm pretty doggone beautiful and my husband does too. For me, "fat" has always been something I am, not something bad, and I think that's a pretty good attitude to have. Bodies are different and there's nothing we can do about it. If we all looked the same, what a boring world it would be. I don't think that being "fat" necessarily has anything to do with how healthy a person is, and definitely nothing to do with how beautiful a person is. However, this year is the ten year anniversary of my mother's death. My mom died at age 66 from congestive heart failure, which is a complication that can arise from cardiovascular disease. Cardiovascular disease is an inherited trait and takes the lives of millions of women each year. Whether it's because we worry too much, bottle up our stress too much, or eat too many cookies, I can't say. I'm not a doctor. But what I do know is, that myself and both my sisters have more risk factors than most to develop a heart problem because of our genetic makeup.

So, having realized that I am now 41 years old (5 years out from the age my mom was when she had her first heart attack) and that I can't get up from the sofa without my knees crackling like cereal, I decided last week to join my sisters in a daily pilgrimage to the local gym. This is the part where you're waiting for me to talk about how exhilarating the workout experience was, and how I felt stupid that I had wasted all this time not getting an endorphin high and what was I thinking?!

Sorry to disappoint.

I am not going to sit here and tell you that working out is the best thing that's ever happened to me. It isn't a religious experience or something that I'd leap out of bed on a Saturday morning to do. It isn't
even in my top 5 things to do with my spare time. After about five minutes on the treadmill I start to wonder why I'm walking all this way and not getting anywhere. After ten, I'm peeking at the person beside me to see how their speed and incline compares to mine, and after thirty, I just want to throw up and go lie down on a yoga mat to die. But I don't. I slide off the back of the treadmill and lift weights for another half hour. Hopefully, in the next few weeks, I'll be able to add a yoga class, some swimming, and maybe even a spin class to the mix just to keep myself entertained. Maybe I'll lose some weight, but that really isn't my primary goal. My primary goal is to be healthier, because I realize that I need to move. I'm not getting any younger and my job as both a writer and legal secretary are sedentary as hell.

But I'm finding out after a week of doing this, that it isn't horrible. And there is this satisfaction of having done something to improve my health. Here's the thing: people think that working out is some kind of contest. That you have to wear the Fabletics outfits and look really cute and not be winded during your workout and that if you aren't hauling ass on the dreaded elliptical trainer for at least an hour, that you aren't doing it right. NEWS FLASH: It isn't a contest. Do what you can, when you can. If all you can muster is five minutes on the treadmill, then that's fine. Just keep doing it until you can go six. Then seven. Then ten. The more you do it, the better you'll get.

And one thing that I've had to get over-- OMG I look like a dying sweat monster. Look at my hair! My mascara is running! My boob is falling out of my bra! HELLO--- nobody cares. Everyone else is so busy trying to keep their own boobs under control that they don't have time to worry about yours. My solution: pick either a treadmill really far away from the mirror OR plunk yourself on the treadmill next to the most unattractive person you can find. You'll look great! But Lexx, what if someone does that to me? Well what do you care?! You don't know them.

At any rate, I'm not one of those health nut people trying to tell you what to do. In fact, I had to put down a frosted sugar cookie to write this post. But in my limited experience this week, I have felt better for working out. That endorphin high is the shizz. So anyway, I'll keep you guys posted on the regime. And let me know in the comments about your own "doing something to make my life better" regime. It might not be working out, even. You might have found a new masseuse, or gotten your hair done, or started eating nothing but pickle slushies-- whatever it is that makes you feel good. I wanna know!