I read somewhere that people who exercise before 9am have healthier heart rates than those who exercise the same amount later in the day. Ever since I read that, I want to do my exercising as early as I can. Personally, I don't like to exercise until an hour after a light breakfast or two hours after a big breakfast. My friend says that women should eat a small meal right before exercise, but I don't like the way that makes me feel while I'm working out so I wait. There is no way I could get up before 7am. I usually get up around 8 or 9 and I most definitely exercise before 3pm. Sometimes I have to convince myself to get down there and exercise. Part of me wants to take a break. Excuses like female changes, overworking muscles, wanting to reserve energy for skating...get int he way. 'No excuses!' I tell myself every day. Sometimes I have to tell myself a few extra times before I agree.
When I start my treadmill up, I start at about 2.8 mph and increase it to 3.2 for the majority of my walk. Note: I have a stride of 12" whereas the average is 18", So Im basically taking two steps for every one step the average person takes. That makes 3.2 mph a lot more impressive of a speed. I'm also short and I don't get any points for grabbing top shelf items, so we should take this stride distance with a grain of salt. 7 minutes in, I start to feel the tenseness in my calves. It reminds me of when I was a kid. The least bit of speed walking would make my calves feel knotted and achy. I associate this ache with freedom and productivity, so I relish it. At 9.30 seconds in, I count the milage on my hand, "15 more seconds left and I've walked .42 miles. I can do this!"
Then I do more stretches to get my heart rate down a little bit before hopping on the elliptical. I set it at a resistance of 8. Can I do 10? Yes. After 5 minutes, I test whether or not I can do a resistance of 12. Sometimes I can, but sometimes its back to 10. By 10 minutes in, I am dying. Sweat is dripping from my hair down to the back of my calves. I try to imagine that one day this feeling will also be associated with results. My head starts to spin a little. The numbers seem to be going backwards. Is my posture correct? I imagine a diamond in my abdomin and the diamond should be straight. I need to walk tall and proud, but I'm so out of breath. I think to motivate myself.
I think about the hostesses in sexist wing restaurants. Isn't that weird?! They all appear to have washboard stomachs and muscular legs. Most have boob jobs too, but The Lord knows I'm not getting cut up like that for anybody! I once asked a hostess at a wing shop in Florida how she stayed in shape and she said, "Elliptical training...every day." If that girl can do it, if all of those girls can do it, I can too. I admired her physeche and whenever I admire something, I try it and make it fit in my own way. That's what I do. Exercise is of no exception to that. I will never have long muscular legs, but I can get muscular legs and I can't damn myself for putting in any effort I can to achieve what I want.
I think about the artist Pit Bull but with the body of VinDesel (I KNOW that's weird), the Spartans from 300, the guys from Magic Mike...It's not that I'd want somebody with a body like that, but how can I physically admire someone who looks like that without putting the work into myself?! They inspire me the way nature inspires artists, the way emotions inspire singers. Out of respect for admiring the good looks of these kind of guys, I keep going. I hate when sloppy old men call pretty girls ugly or heavy when they themselves hadn't even brushed their teeth that morning. How can I say a guy could use a little more muscle to make him appear way more attractive if I myself am not willing to put in that work?! I mentally think I can serve those sloppy jerks some humble pie by being better looking and still being a nice person. This girl will not be a B* even though she looks good (well, when I'm a little further along I will).
I think about Fat Karen. I imagine the younger, heavier me. I remember how it felt to have to buy men's jeans, not being able to trade clothes with my friends like everyone else, being ashamed to eat in public...I feel like I owe it to fat me to get the opposite feeling of that. Other people will always judge me as being overweight, sickly skinny, or carelessly in good shape like its in my genes. I have my daddy's genes to be stout and squishy. You can't please everyone and you certainly shouldn't waste your time trying. 'Opinions are like butt holes' my mama always says. Other people's opinions don't matter so much to me as an adult, but I still mentally feel what I think their opinions might be of me. I think about fat Karen and what she went through to lower her food consumption, her stomach aching at night as she demanded that portion control was enough to hold her over until breakfast time. I think about her thighs burning until they bled with dark bruises all in the name of wanting to look like everybody else. I want to shake fat Karen and tell her those people are NOT something to admire, that she is beautiful and valuable. I can't do that, so I just keep trudging my slightly slimmer thighs and try not to cry so much about the minor heat rash I've been developing smack dab in the middle of my thighs, in the place those bruises once were.
Before I know it, my last 10 minutes is up mid-song on the radio. I feel damp. I glance over at my left shoulder, glistening with sweat and it feels SO good. Again, I do a few more stretches to control my breathing and hop on the treadmill for a 10 minute speedy cool down. I always cover about .10 miles more in my cool down than my warm up. The last of the three machine uses come easy to me. Once my 40 minute exercise is done, I walk into my dance room and look at myself. I am not the grotesque monster I often tell myself I am. I need to stop mentally talking myself down. My cheeks are burning a rosy shade of red and every inch of me glistens with sweat. "I'm sweating and nobody within a 50 mile radius has knocked on the door with a gas mask. It's Ok to sweat in public. It's really ok!" I try to inject this into my brain so that I won't be so fearful of exercising outside of my house. Sweat actually looks good on me. looking sweaty makes me look productive, like I'm hard core for doing something hard core, which I just did. I pick up my hula hoop and do 2 songs straight through without dropping the hoop. Had I added 10 minutes of marching in place, I'd have just done an entire workout video with a hula hoop lol. I swivel my new hips, bend my waist while focusing on my core. I keep at it until I don't feel as soggy as I did on the elliptical.
I unplug the treadmill and hang the cord over the machine. I feel like I could do this every day, I could do it twice a day, I could do it again right now and it wouldn't be any problem at all. Yeah, no I couldn't, but in that moment I feel like I could move mountains. It's a wonderful feeling. I lock the back door, unplug my radio, put my pedometer back on, and go upstairs with one more notch in my belt of days I've exercised. I'll grab a quick drink, maybe watch an episode of something on TV and then hop in the shower.