Allergic to Exercise

Allergic to Exercise
Friday, October 18, 2024 by Cindy Sproles

I can’t wait to get to the gym. There’s something about the smell of sweaty bodies that just fires me up. I too can be one of those fit, smelly bodies.

That’s a lie. I hate the gym. In fact, it’s a running joke with our family that I’m allergic to exercise. It’s just not fun for me. The thought of heading to a building that actually promotes self-induction of pain…uh, no!

Having said that, you’ll find the humor in the fact that my husband and I recently joined the gym. I put it off as long as I could, and then once I hit Medicare age, my supplement pays for Silver and Fit.

Yep, doggone it. It’s paid for. I can’t even blame not joining a gym on the fact that I can’t afford a monthly gym membership. (I hang my head in shame.) But, this year, the Prince and I decided we weren’t getting any younger and if we were going to keep upright, we needed to be able to walk. So, I called our insurance company and asked that heart-wrenching question—Is joining a gym covered? Convinced the answer would be no, I’d already prepared a sneaky grin of success. However, that’s not what happened.

It was like the insurance representative was excited to throw money at me. “Oh certainly. With your supplement, there is a gym benefit. That’s wonderful. As you age, staying fit will benefit you for years to come.” Did she just really say that? Rats.

In fact, this representative couldn’t wait to connect me to the benefit person. Before I knew what hit me, she’d sent me an email as we talked with a list of area gyms, levels of the benefit, and even if we chose to do more…they’d pay for that too. I started to laugh. “Have they trained you to direct customers to specific pain levels?”

The voice on the other end of the phone came to a halt. “Uh, no ma’am. We’re trained to help you be the best you that you can be.” I laughed out loud and let her off the hook. “I’m only teasing you. It’s been my practice to avoid exercise at all costs. Guess the cost finally caught up to me.”

That said, the Prince and I joined the YMCA (they have a pool), and we went for our initial visit a few weeks ago. This very fit man in his 60s walked us around the YMCA and showed us how to use the weight machines, the elliptical, and the treadmill while Tim and I stood glassy-eyed.

“Oh my gosh, this is a reality. I’m actually going to be forced to do this.” I punched Tim on the arm.

So, we began going to the gym two days a week. You know, ease in slow and easy. At least we could share the pain together. Then the day came that Tim couldn’t go. “I have food ministry.”

“Oh sure, you have food ministry.” I laughed. Truth is, he really did have food ministry, so I kissed him goodbye and threw back my shoulders. “I’m going to the gym.” (Well, it sounded good, anyway.) But I did go.

The thing about the gym is peer pressure. You look around and see all these young women poured into their stretchy leggings and sports bras, make-up perfect, hair unscathed, and a tiny microfiber towel to dab the inkling of perspiration (God forbid you call it sweat) from their brow. Now, before you throw me under the bus for joking about the finely tuned women I see, you need to know that I can’t possibly be poured into spandex. For me, it’s more like stuffing a turkey. You must understand my frustration.

Anyway, outside of the peer pressure for spandex, there’s the pressure of performance. I had to convince myself to not look at what others were doing. Take it easy. Work at your own pace. Be the tortoise. Slow and steady wins the race. So, I stepped onto the elliptical, set my speed and the timer, and began at a gentle pace. By the way, I promise the clocks are set to run super slow on those machines. Seconds should really only take seconds, not hours!

I was about five minutes into my walk on the elliptical when a little lady, probably in her late 70’s (judging by her jewelry) flitted next to me, set her water jug in the holder on the machine, jumped up and began a breakneck pace on the elliptical. She set the machine settings while she was walking. I promise she took 30 steps to two of mine. She stuffed her ear pods into her ears and set her phone and away she went. I suddenly felt an immense pressure. I hadn’t felt that kind of peer pressure since 7^th grade. My heart rate went up just feeling the breeze from her feet!

I felt my pace step up. I couldn’t let an elderly lady wipe the floor with me, so I tried to keep up. My knees turned to rubber and my feet became weighted rocks. What on earth! This little lady’s shoulders were back and her fists were clutched. I was sure when I glanced down there was a tread of flames behind her.

My clock ticked on the elliptical. Three minutes. I tapped the screen. I wanted the little lady to think there was a problem with the timer on my machine. By the time my timer had ticked down four minutes, I rested my arms over the machine, heaving for air. Good grief.

At that point, I conceded. I slowed my pace back to tortoise level 1 and wondered why I didn’t think to bring a fancy-spancy water bottle.

Isn’t that just like the most of us? Always trying not to be outdone. Even if it causes us pain. I’m an introvert. When I go to conferences, I take out my extrovert and pin it on. My attention is focused on conferees and their needs. At the end of the day, I go back to my room and curl up in the fetal position. It’s not that I don’t like people—I love people and being around them. But an overabundance of them sucks all the energy out of me. I used to try to keep pace with those extroverts at conferences until I just couldn’t. Who wants to be left behind, out done, mopped up?

I was talking to a dear friend about keeping up with others and she sweetly listened before she nailed me. “Huh, kinda sounds like a pride thing. You don’t want people to just see you for you. You want to be seen racing along like they are”

“What? Pride?” I grumbled.

Well, ouch. It pained me to admit it, but she was right. If I didn’t keep up, others might think badly of me. I didn’t set out to be prideful. I wanted to be helpful, teach, and lead.

So, I learned lesson. When the world tells me to keep up, I need to slow down and do me—not someone else. My focus, because of my ability and who I am, is slow and steady. Besides, slow and steady is easier on the knees.

Look at your pathway through the day. Weigh out how much is “you,” and how much is the world pushing you. Then adjust. Oh – and if you’re at the YMCA and that little 70+ woman shows up, don’t try to out run her. I promise she wears a shirt that says, “Eat my dust!”

Photo 1 – Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay.com Photo 2 – Image by Noshin Naz from Pixabay.com Photo 3 – Canva and Pixabay.com Photo 4 – Image by Eddie K from Pixabay.com

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Comments

cindy huff From Purcell Oklahoma At 10/19/2024 12:55:07 PM

So relatable. Hubby and I went walking with our church group in the Spring. 3 miles around the lake. Not a big deal if we had been walking at all. Enjoyed the fellowship. It made the walk easier until we were done. Pain, lots of pain. Rather than walking every day we hid in the house.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

I know your pain. Lol

Penny McGinnis From Ohio At 10/19/2024 11:18:16 AM

Thank you for this great reminder to take life at your own pace and be yourself. I try to remember that every day, but sometimes I forget. My husband and I walk the dog and some days I struggle to keep up, but I take a step at a time. Love your generous heart, as you pour into others.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

Slow and steady

Sandra Chambers From NC At 10/19/2024 6:58:05 AM

Love your blogs--your humor. I identify with this one. I'm an introvert and need my alone space and time! As far as exercise, I've never been very athletic--hated volleyball at youth camps I attended growing up. Tried tennis, golf, swimming--fun for a while. Exercise has always been one step forwa