Fitness

Yes. Another day, another stretch and another workout with the equipment in the gym.

It all sounds like such a good idea to work out and get fit and lose those nasty little pounds that keep me in the plus size rack.

But the reality is that every single pound requires a ton of effort to remove. And although it does feel good to complete another session in the gym, it's not like I can step on the scales for a complete before and after success story and photo op.

I'd like to. . . and I wonder if that stray desire makes me a lunatic or simple one of the masses that wants the microwave results and the minimal effort to seem reasonably fit.

Of course, there are women who come to the gym who seem to possess an inordinate amount of energy and desire to hop around on those little platforms that seem to work so well for them but require so much effort and concentration on my part to keep from slipping off and breaking something neccessary.

I admit that I HATE the hopping around to music on those little platforms. It makes me feel somewhat like a knock-off version of a Solid Gold Dancer. My spandex isn't as stretchy and my sequins are tarnished but I am up there shaking it for the masses to watch. Except that the only people watching really aren't.

We are all too busy counting our reps and feeling our muscles cramp and stretch beyond all reason as we attempt to discover that golden link between fitness and fanaticism that we hover over on a daily basis.

I ask myself is 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes to an hour at night enough.

Then I question my sanity.

I do know some women who exercise themselves into oblivion. They have ceased to look like women because they have carefully erased their curves in favor of some oddly proportioned body that doesn't look exactly right. It is an addiction to some to find the 'right' look. Instead of seeking to find the body picture that suits their body type, they want to match the image of someone not even remotely near their bone structure or build.

I like food too much for that to become a major worry for me. I am quite sure the remnants of my fudgesicle will always be found somewhere along my body lines in a rumpled section of fat not ready for prime time.

But I have discovered that there is a particular truth that accompanies all of this.

When I exercise I DO feel better and more able to cope. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt every single time. Because that it is constant. What it does mean is that I am making progress toward my eventual goal.

While my microwave mentality wants it right now, my slow cooker reality says it will take a great deal of time.

But the good news is that my biceps are looking good and I really enjoy my evening walking. I just wish there were more sidewalks around town. There should be some sort of ordinance that compels them to put sidewalks all over our area so that wrinkled, lined and flabby people like me can have a safe place to get out and try to tone up. Or at least a place we can keep from being run down by passing cars.