Has Hell Frozen Over?

Anyone that knows me, even remotely knows me, knows that I HATE exercise.  Hate it.  With a passion.  If you ever see me running, that means there is either big trouble coming (and I'm hoping that someone runs slower than me or I'm doomed) or that there is wine at the finish line.  Exercising is something that I do when I'm desperate.

That's right.

And I am officially desperate.  Give me a name tag and a uniform - I'm there..

I'm aiming for less jiggle, more giggle. To be happier when I look in the mirror and to help my back pain.  Working at a computer is poison for your back.

And jeans....

Age is an unkind companion.  This weight creep thing is not to be sniffed at.  It's insidious and sneaky and very clever.  And I hate it.  I used to think I had a crappy metabolism in my 20's.  Ha, life is laughing at me now!

Or not.

So I bit the bullet and made the decision that I needed to start exercising.  I have such a sedentary lifestyle and I couldn't find any downsides (except of course that I hate it!) and it should only add positive things to my life.  Right?  Please. Help me to convince myself.  I did some research online and we went out and bought an elliptical trainer (which was the only thing at the gym that I found less torturous than a treadmill or a stationary bike).

The only way to treadmill.

After careful consideration, joining a gym at this stage was off the list.  The thought of getting out of bed, putting on some half decent clothes and taming my hair into something that doesn't resemble Medusa, jumping in the car, driving to a gym, waiting my turns on equipment, trying not to worry about how stupid I look or if I'm doing it right or if someone is getting a COMPLETELY unflattering view of my derriere, getting back in the car with a beet-red face, and then jumping into the shower....well....no. Just no.

I have a much better chance of succeeding if I can throw on whatever clothes are sitting on the floor covered in cat and dog fur, not having to worry about the state of my hair or the fact that I have a big sleep wrinkle from my sheets across the left side of my face and being able to walk the few metres to the garage to be blissfully alone. Besides, I can't have my dogs and cats assist with my stretching at the gym, can I?  (For those that don't have pets, this kind of assistance involves getting their paws wrapped up in my headphones, licking my face, winding around my legs and generally getting in the way.  That's the animal way.)

I have good intentions, and so far so good.  I'm even trying to be reasonable and starting off slowly so that I don't hurt myself.  But is it too much to ask that after a few days of using it that I drop a few kilos??  Where is the motivation?  Where is the justice?

The sad thing is that my extra kilos have been around longer than an Australian Prime Minister has stayed in office, and will probably outlast the current one too.

One thing I know about me though, once I make a commitment and actually commit to it, I do stick to it (which is what made me such a loyal volunteer...well, the monkeys had something to do with that too!).  I know that I like routine, so I can do this.  I can.  I also know that if I put something out there, into the universe, and say it out loud, I have to keep my word.  I don't HAVE to, but it helps.

Don't worry, I have an way out....I haven't said how long I'll stick with it!  Hopefully long enough to feel healthy again and not cringe if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Fitting into some clothes that have been sitting in the 'hopeful' corner in my closet will be a nice bonus too.

Happy(?) exercising!

Maybe I should join a gym?