exercise
Dear Ciara,
If I had a love potion, I wouldn’t waste it on making someone fall for me. I’d drink it myself—just enough so that I could fall in love with exercise.
Believe me, I’ve tried. I go to the gym. I lift weights. Do I enjoy it, though? Finding the motivation for that triweekly hour of exercise is a struggle, and once I'm there, I spend the entire time silently convincing myself I'm the least healthy person in the room. “Make exercise fun”, says my PT. Well, I’ve tried. I gave team sports a go, but I enjoyed the chat after the game and the matching uniforms more than the running and the panting. I’ve tried running while listening to music or a podcast, but I find even that beyond boring.
Yoga’s the closest I’ve come to liking a workout. But even then—between the often-slow pace and the steep cost for classes up here—I’m not sure if it will stick. And at this point, maybe you’re thinking I’m just making excuses, that I’m whinging. And let’s be honest, I am. Nothing brings out the baby in me like exercise. I have a PT session later today and I am ready to throw a tantrum. There are a million other things I’d prefer to be doing.
Exercise is a lover that talks a big game—promises me energy, confidence, even joy. But in practice? It leaves me sweaty, sore and strangely resentful. I don’t like the strain on my body. Don’t like the feeling of my heart racing. Don’t like pushing myself to new heights. And where is the endorphin-induced high afterwards that I was promised?
Maybe one day I’ll fall head over heels for exercise. But until then, I’ll keep dragging myself to the gym like it’s a bad date I can’t quite ghost. What do you think I should do, Ciara? How do I fall in love with exercise?
The song for today is:
Calon Peiriant – Gwenno
Gwenno has been filling my earbuds today. While my Welsh is abysmal, I often daydream of being able to speak it properly. One of these days I will have to try to learn. It would be great to reconnect with my Mum's culture through language.
Love,
The Gardener