Saturday, August 17, 2013

Working Out How To Work Out, In A Way That Works Out

I spend so much time exercising my mind, it's easy to forget to do the same for my body. Trouble is, I've never exactly been a workout kind of guy. Back in school, Phys Ed class taught me the joys of not being in Phys Ed class. As a result, the notion of getting in shape has always, in my mind, been synonymous with being shoved into lockers, mercilessly taunted, and occasionally threatened with hockey sticks.

Fitness Clubs aren't much better for me - the only one I nearly joined offered free membership and a free mountain bike. Except, to get the free membership I had to sign a one-year contract. Which cost $600. Oh, and the bike would arrive disassembled. I'd have to pay to transport it from the gym to someone whom I could pay to assemble it. Because that's how bikes are always delivered. Everybody knows that, Mr. Carter. That, at least, is what the insanely hot and ridiculously overtanned sales lady told me when I reacted badly to her scam.

So I don't go to gyms. I have trust issues, and I just plain can't afford them. And I might end up talking like a gym person. "Gonna go work on my quads," I heard a guy say. "Worked on my trys yesterday, pecs the day before that. Today it's the quads." I don't ever want to make that a part of my daily conversation.

So, what do I do to get my heart going? I walk. My neighbourhood has lots of bike paths and walking trails, and plenty of decent places to walk to. I'll head out somewhere, stop for some tea and do some writing, then walk back home again. Often I'll come home with groceries, which makes it an even bigger workout.

I'm sure if I were to discuss my exercise routine with some gym people, I'd be told I'm not getting nearly enough 'cardio', and how can I expect to 'tone up' if I don't have the right equipment? What does my personal trainer have to say? I don't have a personal trainer? How is it I'm not dead already?

Couldn't tell you. And yes, I might drop dead tomorrow. But it won't be because some jerk shoved me into a locker with a hockey stick while making fun of my quads.

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