…or so I thought, back in the days when I considered “working out” to mean my walk around the park that happened precisely two occasions per year.
I remember watching Legally Blonde for the first time, when Elle Woods arrives at her defense logic by means of endorphins (“Happy people just don’t commit murder!”), and thinking – how can exercise make anyone happy? All I feel before, during, and post-exercise is blah, dread, pain, and excruciating are-we-done-yet syndrome – those people are just insane if they look forward to this torture!
Well, things have changed, people. Today, as I pondered the deep blue of the sky and practically smiled my way home from the gym, it occurred to me that I do indeed like working out. Somehow, in the time since last year’s New Year’s resolution to work out more, I have not only kept my resolve but begun to enjoy it.
I’ve come a long way from those ancient days before I got my Ipod (January, 2008). Back then, music was my only motivation. I must have been a sight to behold, balancing my annoying, skiptastic CD player in the palm of my hand as I cruised past the elderly on the civic center track (seven times around = one mile). The concept of going to an actual gym was both foreign and intimidating. Work out, in front of people? No.
Now, I go to yoga classes – with three walls of mirrors – as often as my schedule allows. I lift weights, run, row, and do the elliptical machine. I’m getting better at holding my planks – both regular and side variations (yay!).
The best part? It’s paying off, physically and mentally. Combined with my newfound love of eating well (Good riddance forever, chipotle bleu-cheese bacon burger from Chili’s), my body feels – and looks – better than ever. When I can’t work out for a few days, I actually miss it now. Go figure. Let this be encouragement for those of you who still consider endorphins to be creatures of myth – a little discipline goes a long way, and eventually, it will get better.