Truly, deeply lazy people will grab at any excuse. I know because – well, voila.
Last week I was unable to summon the energy – the determination – the sisu to make my regular Tuesday appointment with Barbara, High Wizard Trainer of the Most Glorious Order of Balance and Sweat.
NO, I said, with petulant, toddler-like determination – and unlike a toddler, I now have a foot big enough that, when planted, even Barbara cannot budge.
Instead, I wrote a whining, complaining blog post about how much exercise I’d undertaken in the last week (which, in truth, was a pretty typical week). In response, Barbara said the most glorious thing EVER – she said:
Who told you to do all that? You’re working out too hard. No wonder you’re tired.
I’m going to learn to needlepoint, and when I can do it, I’m going to needlepoint that on a long bolster pillow and then I’m going to lay that pillow across my bed and then I’m going to drape myself across the pillow and EAT BONBONS.
Barbara and I exchanged e-communications; she said she was going to revise my work-out schedule. I heaved a great, happy sigh – and then deliberately, consciously, went as silent as a bunny under the shadow of a soaring hawk. Don’t move. Not a whisker. If you move, she’ll notice!
I worked out with Grace on Wednesday, and I saw Barbara at Balance Class on Thursday; she said she was working on my revised schedule. I nodded with as little movement as possible…
…because as long as she didn’t tell me the revised schedule, I DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING.
No cardio. No jogging around the lake, no elliptical, no thudding up and down the stairs. No HEP (Home Exercise Program) – no stretching. And proving that if you give me an inch I shall most certainly take a mile or more, NO EATING RIGHT EITHER, because all efforts to live healthfully are all part and parcel of the same plan, right??
So I did not ask Barbara for the new plan. Instead I did nothing on Friday. On Saturday, I consumed most of a loaf of Snappy Sourdough but expended not one erg of energy that wasn’t absolutely necessary. On Sunday I drove fifteen hours to pick up the brat from college, and made sure to sample every fast food restaurant I went past.
(Look – they all suck. I don’t know what Body Dynamics has done to my taste buds, but I think I might rather do my taxes than eat anything from McDonalds. I’m ruined.)
And when I woke up this morning, I stood up without grimacing. The deep, growling pain from my adductor magnus is completely gone; I no longer limp for the first ten feet. My low back is flexible and happy again. If I go upstairs to get some writing done only to realize I’ve left the (now barking) dog in the back yard, I can buzz downstairs to let him in without feeling like I then need a nap.
I feel great.
I realize that leading a slothful life is bad for me long-term. I know that every idle moment now is costing me five at a time of life when I’m going to be REALLY interested in avoiding the grim reaper. I’m aware that flexibility and strength is important enough to work for…
…but a three-day hiatus is some kind of delicious.
And now I can share all this with Barbara so as we revise my schedule tomorrow, we can make intelligent choices about what I can and can’t – and could but shouldn’t – do in my quest for improved health.
And we’ll have that conversation tomorrow, at our regularly-scheduled Tuesday appointment, when I shall take up again the burden of health. I’m not giving up. But I think I’m a little smarter now, about moving forward not just for today but also in creating a plan I can live with every day.
Including the occasional hiatus!
This is a photo of hyacinth. The words “hyacinth” and “hiatus” don’t even share the same roots, but somehow they’re associated in my mind. A hiatus sounds like a fresh, small, purple bloom amid lush greenery. Glorious but low, holding close to the ground and hiding from the shadow of the hawk’s wing. Deliciously scented, fleeting in bloom, something to be treasured. Ah, spring!