Words cannot adequately express how bored I am with my workout routine. I really hate going to the gym these days.
Not that I've been to the gym terribly often in the past few weeks.
(Hmm. Perhaps the two things are related?)
Lately at the gym I more or less force myself through thirty monotonous minutes on the elliptical machine, I do a few sit-ups and push-ups, and I high-tail it home. It's better than doing nothing, but only barely.
Each day as I leave work at 3:00, I try to convince myself to put on my gym clothes and go to Lifetime by thinking about how good I feel after I work out. I know part of that feeling is from the endorphins released during exercise, but lately it's more like the old joke:
Sven: Why do you hit yourself in the head with a hammer?
Ole: Because it feels so good when I stop.
I try to use the time at the gym to clear my head of the events of work that day and think up possible topics for blogging. (What was on my mind yesterday, I wonder.) Failing that, I can at least admire the rich display of male pulchritude. Or course, now with the arrival of warm weather, more of the hotties are exercising outdoors. That lowers the crowding at the gym, but at the cost of making the place even less interesting.
At the very least, I'd like to switch the cardio machines I use, but my always-ready-to-flare-up-or-rip left calf muscle won't let me do the treadmill or the bike for more than a few minutes. Right now the only thing I can do that doesn't hurt is the elliptical. Swimming would be an option, I suppose. If I knew how to swim (and had a pool all to myself so no one could see my fleshy form.)
This morning I'm finally being evaluated by a physical therapist. I really hope I can get some help for my calves, because tennis season is upon us, and right now I don't think I could play without hurting myself. I was so happy to be back on the court last summer, and I've been looking forward to playing again this year.
Not only is tennis the only exercise I've ever really enjoyed, but it's one of the only things that makes me think it might be nice to live someplace that's warm all year. (Otherwise, I'm quite fond of the cold and the dark of Minnesota's seven month winter. Let's not forget I was a German major.)
I guess I'm just feeling crabby, doughy, and sorry for myself. Why couldn't I enjoy eating and drinking 50% less, and exercising 50% more? Is that so damn much to ask?
Thank God the trip to Germany is less than two weeks away. I always walk off a few pounds when I go to Europe.
Sorry to have no real point while simultaneously being whiny and self-absorbed. (What is this, a blog??)