"E" is for Evil.....and Exercise

Those two words are pretty much synonomous for me. Anything that causes me pain is evil, and everyone knows exercise hurts. It's supposed to, right? No pain, no gain? Well I've had some gain alright, but not the kind they're referring to.

I truly hate exercise. I have an absolute mental block when I think about it, even something as simple as walking. I live in an apartment complex and we have a fitness center w/ a treadmill, an elliptical machine and a couple of weight machines. It's not big, but the treadmill is really all I need. What completetly sucks about it is, they don't heat or cool the room. It makes the walking even tougher than it normally is because it's so hot in there during the summer that you feel like you're suffocating. They have a couple of small windows in the fitness room, but because the way the building is situated, you can't get a good cross breeze by opening them. I've tried.

I know what you're thinking. Excuses, excuses. And they are excuses, but they're valid ones for a fat girl like me. It's hard enough already when you weigh this much to get all the fat moving in the same direction, much less trying to simultaneously suffocate me with no ventilation. Why don't I go to a park to do it? I can't even get motivated enough to walk down to the fitness center a stone's throw away. Actually getting in my car and driving somewhere to torture myself is almost laughable.

I've done the walking thing in spurts before. When I lost the 83 lbs. a few years back I had a routine of walking 2 miles a day, 5 days/wk. I did it on work days. On my way home after work I would swing by the park. I was already in the car, already driving down the road, and the park wasn't very far out of the way. I had also made up my mind, and that's 90% of the battle.

I can say that after I've taken a walk, I'm incredibly proud of myself for actually getting up and moving instead of hanging out in my apartment like a big fat sloth. It feels really good because it's an accomplishment....it's doing something that I truly hate, that I truly find difficult to make myself do. It's almost embarassing how proud I feel after I've exercised. Imagine this scenario:

"Soooo....you climbed Mt. Everest, huh? (picture me wedging my thumbs down inside my elastically challenged, too-tight sweatpants and sliding them from front to back, arching my back, rocking from my heel to the ball of my foot & bouncing a couple of times) Well I walked a MILE on the treadmill today.......top that, Mr. Mountain Maaaaan."

I know I need to get started again and stick with it. I think about it all the time. I argue with myself constantly in my mind......

Tammy, you need to exercise.
I don't want to.
You're too fat, you need to do it.
I don't feel like it.
I don't care what you feel like, get out there and do it.
It hurts.
You know you'll feel better afterwards.
I'm allergic to the heat.
Stop making excuses...get your a$$ moving!
You're really stressing me out!
Do it! Do it now! Move, move move!
That's it. I'm stressed. I'm frying some pork chops.

This is something that really needs to change, not only for the weight problem, but also for my diabetes. It's extremely important and I know I need to get focused soon. I have a follower on my blog named Rebecca. Her blog name is "screwdestiny" and she's been commenting on my blog, giving me lots of awesome tips and advice. I really like her blog name. Anyone who has the mentality of making their own road and not leaving their lives to chance has my full admiration. Due to my love of dance, she suggested I work out to some dance videos. I had never thought of that, and I love, love, love the idea. Unfortunately, my financial situation is so bad right now, that I can't afford to spend the money to buy them. My lease is up in 2 months and we're moving into something cheaper, so any extra money I come across is all going to saving up to move.

My goal right now is to get on that dang treadmill. I have daydreams of one day becoming one of those exercise junkies that can't get enough of the sweat and the pain. I'd love to be the next Jillian Michaels... instead of Porkchop Girl. Oink, oink.