Stumbling Toward Health

Okay, you may not believe this, but I wasn't exactly a gym class hero during my school years. A competent scientist and mathemetician, a natural in English and social studies - yes. But once I donned those ugly shorts and stood in line, waiting to be picked for some team sport activity... well, I'll just say that I stood in line longer than every other kid (except Stacy B - Stacy, wherever you are, bless your slow-beating heart!).

Sadly, the absolute dread and bitterness I felt during those many years of mandatory gym classes have packed some pretty powerful aftershocks. For a very long time, I thought exercise was evil. But then I remember in the Autumn of 2000, when I was feeling particularly zesty and free, I came to the logical conclusion that physical activity is good for me. I'm not exaggerating. I had so long associated a pumping heart with failure and humiliation that I was blind to the benefits of exercise. Even after I figured that out, I wasn't willing to actually work out. I didn't need to. I was in my early 20's and could live off a diet of Doritos and Camel Lights and still manage to breathe.

Reading as I write, I realize that this sounds completely insane, but this is how it was. I quit smoking when I was 25 and gained a bunch of weight (damn that mid-20's weight gain! such a humbling experience when you've only been young your whole life). Then I moved further away from downtown and walked everywhere and simlutaneously started smoking again. And suddenly, I was skinny.

I quit smoking, again, this past August (hooray!) and moved to a place where it can be rather unhealthy to walk, especially after dark. And so, I am a little fat, once more. But, I'm also living in one of the most obese cities in the US, so I'm still hotter than 90% of the population. I know that sounds vapid and vain (because it is), but try being fat in a college town. It isn't fun.

More importantly, I like the way I look and so does my man, so I don't feel pressured to change my shape. Yet, miraculously, I have recently had a yen to work out. I would like to lose some weight, because they don't make cute clothes for big ladies, but mainly I'm interested in my own physical health. I want to breathe better and lift heavy things.

So for the first time in my life, I willingly worked out at a public gymnasium. Yes, I was stair-stepping with strangers and no one laughed at me or called me a loser. And considering that I did this activity in the very place where I had the worst job interview of my life, I'm proud of myself. I was eager for my next visit and my upcoming introduction to bodybuilding.

That was last Monday, the day before Dan got the sore throat. I started feeling it Thursday and the soreness lasted for four days. Today is Wednesday and my head feels like a brick, but on the bright side, I feel the least shitty compared to the last several days. Mind you, this is part of a larger arc of physical discomfort. Two weeks ago, when we were driving home from a Florida vacation, we both got hit with a nasty, albeit shorter-lived bug, which made those Ohio blizzards even more fun to traverse. A few days later, I slammed my head on pavement when I slipped on ice (the bump has just receded). As Catherine O'Hara said in the film Orange County, "What can I say? It's just one shit storm after another".

But enough of my whining. After days of feeling like a dirty mucus machine, I'm very excited to work out again. My desire to be healthy runs stronger than ever before. It's just funny to me that once I finally have the balls to conquer my most debilitating neurosis and get in shape, I immediately rebound into my worst physical condition. And since this now strikes me as more funny than aggravating, I know I'm on the mend.