I think I hinted in a previous post about what an unenthusiastic exerciser I am. This has been a life-long truth. I dreaded PE from the first grade onwards. I probably would have dreaded it in kindergarten as well, but I don’t remember it happening there. I imagine it did, but presented in such a way that the innocent didn’t suffer. The nuns at my grammar school were not that into it either, but the head nun was an enthusiastic folk dancer, and this fell into the same horrifying category – physically coordinated things that I could not do and from which I endured great humiliation. I loved swimming, roller skating, and riding my bicycle, but these were solo activities for which one’s performance was not judged. So I could be not good at them, and still imagine I was doing well and have fun. Then in high school came the shock and horror of organized sports – organized by a hideously enthusiastic and supremely athletic bunch on nuns. This was a gruesome ordeal – gruesome before we even hit the games field. We had to change out clothes in front of the other girls ( so mortifying,) and wear the most disgusting outfits ever. Actually, not quite. The class before us wore something way worse – a sort of one piece affair with an unflattering little skirt attached to an ugly blouse and puffy bloomers! I could not believe it when I first saw them. They were a minor consolation for the awful Bermuda shorts and blouse that we had to wear.
When I was married, my husband Dennis was very interested in me being fit, and encouraged me to do push ups and jog around the block while he sat by and was encouraging. Somehow, we both thought this was fun and funny. I am not sure why that was, given my disinclination for anything requiring exertion.
My ideal exercise is turning the pages of a book, but as you can see, I have spent a lifetime of people wanting me to move more. And Rebecca has joined this cadre of enthusiastic naggers. She keeps sending me articles telling my how much healthier, smarter, happier, etc. I will be if only I get off my duff, and takes me jogging twice weekly. Or maybe I should say weakly. Anyhow, on our most recent run, I took her fabulous gift to me – my new brilliant phone – and it recorded our progress. My phone had a GPS fluke and thought that I had gone much further and faster than I actually did. We know this, because hers has been proven accurate. I would like to think that I went as far as my phone said I did, but that would be fibbing. Not fibbing though, is this photo, the first I ever took with it. I said, gasping, “Let’s stop for a picture here.” “No, no, we have to keep going,” she replied. But she relented and I had a short breather so I could snap a pic for you.
You can see a prettier photo from the same spot here.