An attempt to shame myself into motivation…

I hate exercise.  There is no other way to say it.  I could try and tell you exactly HOW much I hate it, but it would be a waste of time for both of us.  Suffice it to say that it is a LOT.

But I also hate being over, well, we will just say a certain size and leave it at that.  I don’t want to give out any numbers, but it is between 2 and 3 sizes above my pre-25 year old weight.  I think that is reasonable.  It gives me some leeway for those additional 15 years and a slower metabolism, but keeps me under the numbers that make me shudder and/or cry.

I have several things working against me with weight loss and fitness, though.

One thing I have working against me is that I am a towering 5’1”.  This means that, unlike a person of normal height, every ounce shows up on me much more pronounced than it would if I were 5’5” or, like some people I know, love and envy, a supermodel worthy 5’11”. An ounce on me looks like a pound on someone like that because I do not have the height to distribute it over.  You’ve heard the joke, “I am not over weight, I am under tall”?  For me it is actually true.

Another thing is that I was naturally thin for most of my life.  Now, don’t go making judgments about that statement. And I am not saying that to brag in any way. And I am not claiming that I was in good shape or looked all toned in a bikini (trust me, I have never felt good in a bikini – and for good reason), but I have to admit that the flabby bits fit into the smaller sizes.  Which made me lazy.  Since I could get away with not working out and still be thought small in clothes that covered the bad parts, I most assuredly did.  Come on, you did too.  That means that I never made exercise a part of my life.  And now I am paying for it.

Also, I am not athletic.  By “not athletic” I mean that I am the most horribly uncoordinated person on the planet and I have absolutely no sports skills whatsoever.  I can dance and that is it.  (Well, at the very least, I WILL dance – whether or not I am any good at it, I have no idea. And, truth be told, I really don’t care. I have never caught anyone pointing and laughing, at least) I used to be able to hit a baseball and I can throw a football – with a decent spiral, I might add.  However, you cannot expect accuracy.  You remember the commercials where the guy was out in the yard throwing the football through the tire swing?  Yeah, I can’t do that.  I also suck at volleyball, tennis (even Wii tennis – yes, that bad) and any other thing you can think of except maybe kickball (and, as Jay recently pointed out, anyone can play kickball). But it has been upwards of 30 years since I tried that, so I would probably suck at it as well now.  For a brief (and deeply traumatizing) period of time in middle school I tried to be a cheerleader.  I was not good at it.  I was uncoordinated and what took others a few minutes to learn to do took me hours. That made me self-conscious, which made my uncoordination worse (and you would have thought it could not be – you would have been wrong).  It was humiliating.

To top it all off, I detest sweating and there is nothing good about “feelin’ the burn.”  It fucking hurts.  I hate the stitch I get in my side and I hate being short of breath.  It makes my chest hurt.  I don’t like to hurt.  Unless there is some sort of wonderful reward coming (orgasm) or I am in full swing cleaning mode and on a mission because my house is a total wreck and I cannot stand it anymore, I pretty much hate any physical exertion.  I have been known to work myself into a breathless pant cleaning the house on the weekend for hours, but that is due to the fact that I am a working mom who has to cram all housekeeping into one day out of the measly two I get off of the other job I have.  Since I cannot live in clutter and filth, so I will go on a housecleaning tare on a Saturday or Sunday for a few (or 6) hours and get everything just the way I want it.  Then I can nap or not be distracted by the mess while I sit on my ass and read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle in my reading chair.

Apparently, my metabolism has slowed to the point that these things (sex and housecleaning) are no longer sufficient to maintain a weight I deem acceptable for myself.  Pitty.

There are only two things I have going for me as far as motivation to work out.

One is that I have a personal limit for just how fat an ass I can have and still maintain a shred of self-respect.

The other is that I have too much pride for Jay to be married to some flabby, doughy, middle aged woman who “used to be thin.”

The final hurdle?  Well, that is the really tough one.  I have no ability to follow through and stick with it.  Case in point: I love yoga (and contrary to what you may have heard or believe, yoga is a workout.  Don’t believe me?  Try it.  Then we will talk), but even though I found a yoga practice within walking distance of my office, I cannot stick with it.

It always starts out the same.  I get all gung ho about going and go two or three times.  Then something happens.  I run short of money one week and don’t pay for a class.  Or I have a bad day at work and all I want to do is run home to my happy place and forget about the day – the sooner the better.  Besides, I can do yoga another day this week, right?  Nope.  Because then I forget.  And the next week I think I will be embarrassed when someone tells me they missed me at last week’s class, so I don’t go.  And then I forget to pay for 2 weeks worth of classes when I get paid again.  And before you know it, it has been two months since I went to a class and I am too ashamed that I could not stick with it more than three times – and I never go back.  And I LIKE yoga.  How long do you think that little scenario takes to play out with something I don’t like – like aerobics?  Yeah, it’s a lot faster.

Ok, forget the classes.  All I have to do is walk, right?  I can do that on my own.  No classes needed.  But it is really hot.  Except at 6a.  And I am curled up in bed sound asleep at 6a. No way I am getting up.  Ok, fine, lazy bones.  Maybe 8p?  Nah.  Been at work all day, came home and cooked dinner now having a bit of family time. And then, what do you know? It’s too late.  Damn.

What about yoga at home?  I have the mat, block, strap, even videos and Heaven knows I am always in comfy clothes at home.  No problem, right?  Wrong.  There is either always something to clean or cook or I am just tired from being at work or the cleaning or washing or cooking.  I am just going to sit down for a bit and read or watch this one show and then I will do it. But, no, I won’t.  And if I won’t do yoga, you can bet there will not be any weight dropping aerobics.

I am pathetic.

Maybe that is why I am writing this and posting it on the internet for everyone to see.  I figure I may shame myself into following through.  Regardless of why I am posting this, I am 40 and pregnant and so far I have gained 14 pounds.  Which would not be so bad – IF I had not been a full 20 pounds over my ideal top weight when I found out I was pregnant.  That translates into about 2 to 3 full sizes above the acceptable sizes I explained earlier.  So I was already in the hole and this pregnancy is just going to dig it deeper.

I am ashamed of myself.  Let’s see if it matters enough to me to do something about it.

• apathy
• personal