Historically, I’ve been a pretty hit-and-miss exerciser. I’ve gone through time periods when I’ve gone to the gym a few days a week (I was really good about it while I was pregnant, actually)…but even then, it’s 20 minutes of bopping around on the elliptical with a copy of US Weekly, and I’m outta there. Sweating? Not really. Pain? No thank you.
Since we moved I’ve managed a couple of halfhearted “jogs” (more “strolls while wearing sneakers”) down around the lake near our house, but I hate jogging. Hate it.
Anyway, I’m not really into making New Year’s Resolutions, but this year I thought hey – why not? I’m 31 years old, and I really should start treating my body a little better as a matter of habit…and January is as good a time as any to start making baby steps in the right direction.
And so I joined the gym at the Y.
And off I went.
This is Monday morning, post-Zumba class. It’s almost annoying how true it is that no matter how little you want to get to the gym…you always, always feel great afterwards. Energy. Endorphins. Zest for the day. Et cetera.
Another thing that’s true: cute new gym clothing (everything pictured here is Roxy) makes the whole thing a little more fun.
One thing left to do: buy new gym sneakers, because I’m horrified to tell you how old the things pictured above are…but take how long you think a reasonable time to own a pair of sneakers is and multiply it by ten and you’ll probably be in the ballpark.
I don’t know what it is about sneakers that makes me so paralyzed by the idea of purchasing a new pair…maybe a little PTSD from the fact that my parents used to drag me along to the sporting goods store when I was a kid and needed sneakers, and it was the most boring place in the entire world? And for whatever reason we had to spend forever in there before making a decision?
Whatever it is, it’s time to get over it. A new pair is being purchased this weekend. I promise.