Sunday, November 20, 2011

Designed For Doing ...


Twinges of ow. That's what I'm feeling this morning. Twinges of ow and stiffness.

Geez, I'm out of shape.

Not that I've ever been in really great shape. I've never been one for exercise. In grade school, I loathed the President's Physical Fitness Something or Other. And I loathed the 600 most of all. Running around the school parking lot three times. Running? Please. I started out in a half-hearted jog and then walked. And pull ups? I was expected to do pull ups? Please. If I ever have to claw my way up a building's facade or face falling to my death, I'm going to count on adrenaline to kick in, but until that day comes, no, I can't do a pull up. And I'm OK with that.

But yesterday, I consulted my to-do list and then I consulted the weather, and with the slight threat of rain last night, I decided that I best get my outdoor chores done Saturday, lest rain prevent me from doing them on Sunday.

And here we are.


But my yards look fabulous. All my outdoor chores are done for the season and I do not have to think about cutting my grass again until March. Maybe April. One never knows with the snows in these parts.

My back could be more pleased with me. An Advil last night probably would have been a good idea. But for all the bending and stooping and crouching and carrying I did yesterday, it's not nearly as pissed as I expected it to be.

All of which was reminding me yesterday that I really need to get back to some semblance of fitness.

In the closet off my office, I have taped on the wall the photo of Hilary Swank that ran in Vanity Fair when she did "Million Dollar Baby." The Hollywood issue, perhaps. She's running on a beach. She has the most lithe body I've ever seen. It's amazing. It's inspiring.

Mind you, it's taped on a wall where I rarely see it. But when I go in that closet, she impresses me every time.

I can't imagine I will ever look that way. Apparently, running would be involved in achieving that look and as I'm known for saying, "I don't run unless chased."

But I miss how I felt when I worked with Brandon the Hunky Trainer. Not that I shall be rekindling my love-hate relationship with him. I never hated him, mind you, but a couple of those machines he made me use were bastards.

Today, I have much laundry to tackle. And between me and my washer and dryer are many stairs. Eleven, I believe. Eleven down and eleven up. All day long.

I ask my back to cooperate.

Or maybe Hilary Swank will stop by.


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