There are supposedly six million ways to die. I’m not sure if this fact is true because I heard it in a rap song, but much of the knowledge I’ve acquired in life is from hardcore rap lyrics, so let’s just assume this information is correct.
I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about “The D Word” because I’m dedicated to avoiding hefty life tasks such as setting long-term goals, understanding taxes, acquiring marketable skills, or thinking about my eventual demise.
I may not obsess over death, but some primal instinct keeps me from doing things that put me in harms way. Like exercising.
Recently, I –
…Fell off a treadmill – while the belt was still moving. Distracted by a rousing news segment on water bottle consumption, I forgot to put one foot in front of the other. I just got up casually, looked around to see if anyone noticed, and bought a Twix bar to console myself. You know what tastes better than blood, sweat, and tears? Chocolate. And caramel. And a crispy biscuit finger.
…Took a Zumba class. I could go into all the sordid details of this experience, but really, I still want you to respect me a little bit because I care what you think, so that’s pretty much all I can say about the incident.
…Tried to take a leisurely walk around my neighborhood. I ran into a pole. Personally, I think it moved into my path, but my family disagrees. They claim that poles can’t move. Haters.
Each brush at attempted fitness has left an ugly scar on my psyche. And, in some cases, my shin.
I’ve tried exercises that don’t involve so much motion, like weight training. Except, I usually get distracted halfway through my routine (Oh my Jesus, look at that moth! It’s so…so….brown!) and stop what I’m doing. I assume at some point, my body is going to start looking all lopsided and shit.
Sure, I’ve got the whole primal instinct thing going on, but I’ve also been blessed with an unusually small amount of common sense, so I’m renewing my vows to get fit.
How do you stay fit? How do you stay motivated?