I’ve always had a complicated relationship with exercise. I enjoy the sense of accomplishment after a workout, but the process itself? Not so much. I dread trying to fit it into my hectic schedule, and it always feels challenging – no matter how many times I do it. I’m not one of those people who feels “off” without a workout, and I’ve never experienced that elusive runner’s high. Why must it always slip through my fingers?
My feelings about exercise likely stem from my childhood. My dad used to say, “the main function of the human body is to keep your head from rolling around on the ground.” We weren’t an athletic family; ping pong was the extent of our physical activity. Yet, over time, a rowing machine, two stationary bikes, and a treadmill somehow made their way into our house. I never saw any of that equipment being used. I guess my parents thought that by owning it, they could eventually use it, which provided some psychological benefit, if not a physical one.
It’s no wonder I never established a consistent exercise routine that I actually enjoyed — one that didn’t just serve as a means to satisfy my cravings for chocolate cake. When I became a mother to three energetic kids, I certainly got my cardio in by chasing after them. Carrying them and their endless supplies felt like strength training, too.
However, as my children grew older, their energy levels and my fatigue seemed to grow at the same pace. I noticed that my doctors stopped joking about how my kids kept me fit and instead began inquiring seriously about my exercise habits. They even took time during check-ups to discuss how many minutes of exercise I logged weekly. I remember one doctor even demonstrated the perfect plank on the floor.
I knew I wanted to be healthy and strong for my family, and exercise was one way to help achieve that. Yet, balancing kids, a demanding job, and a long commute made it difficult to find time for it. That’s when I reached out to my friend, Mia, who had been going to a 5:30 AM boot camp and was home before her family woke up. I loved the idea of something called “camp,” so even though I dreaded sacrificing an hour of sleep, I decided to give it a shot.
The next morning, Mia picked me up at 5:15, and we drove to a nearby parking lot, where surprisingly energetic individuals were warming up by running laps. “If this is the warm-up,” I asked, “what’s the actual workout like?” She laughed, but I was serious. Boot camp turned out to be a series of progressively challenging exercises. You start with one, then add another, and so on until you feel like passing out. Each exercise was tough, but none quite as brutal as the “burpee.” The name should have been a warning. It involved jumping, squatting, and planking, and was absolutely dreadful. While everyone around me was powering through, I was just trying to keep up and mourning the hour of sleep I lost.
After class, Mia bounced over with a big smile, telling me I had done great. If “great” meant “wow, you’re really out of shape,” she was spot on. She later confessed that she had thrown up after her first class. Seriously? If I’d known that, I might have opted out. I was looking to revitalize, not regurgitate.
Next, I tried yoga, hoping for something more relaxed. The class was in a cozy studio, warmly lit by LED candles. Outside was cold and rainy, but inside felt inviting. Our instructor calmly guided us through gentle stretches, and I thought, “I can do this; I might even sneak in a quick nap.” But then he turned up the heat and called out poses that everyone else understood: “updog, downdog, cat, cow, warrior II.” I could barely keep up with the instructions, while everyone else gracefully transitioned between poses. I was still stuck in child’s pose, pretending to exercise and feeling like a hot mess.
I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. There’s a lovely rail trail near my home that runs alongside a lake. It’s flat, making it the perfect jogging path. I always liked the idea of saying, “I’m going for a run.” So I set off on what I generously called a “run,” which was more of a slow jog. On my second outing, my son joined me and easily outpaced me while walking.
By my third attempt, I realized I could stop pretending to run and simply enjoy a brisk walk. I began listening to an audiobook I had downloaded for my commute, and something amazing happened: I lost track of time. I finished the loop but was so engrossed in the book that I wanted to keep going. I decided to save the rest of the story for my next walk as motivation to return.
The following day, my friend Lisa called while I walked, and we chatted for an hour. I soon discovered I could multitask: I could walk and talk, walk and read, or walk and catch up on the news. I even created a personalized playlist featuring all the cheesy songs I secretly loved, striding to my own rhythm.
Exercise transformed into a delightful byproduct of something I craved: “me time.” It may not make me feel euphoric, but it certainly doesn’t make me want to throw up, so I consider that a win. I may not burn as many calories as a boot camper, and while saying “I’m going for a walk” lacks the flair of “I’m going for a run,” I don’t have to force it into my schedule; it naturally fits.
I enjoy that I only have to keep pace with myself and call the shots. I’ll never push myself to do a burpee, but I do challenge myself to go further and faster. For now, I’ll stick to my own pace and simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.
For more insights on at-home exercise routines, check out this blog post here, or explore the resources available at Make a Mom for comprehensive tips on home insemination.
Summary
The author reflects on her lifelong aversion to exercise, stemming from her family’s non-athletic background, and recounts her journey to find a form of physical activity that fits her lifestyle. After trying boot camp and yoga with little success, she discovers the joy of walking, which allows her to enjoy “me time” while also staying active. This shift changes her perspective on exercise, making it something she looks forward to rather than a chore.
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