(Confession: It took me at least five tries to spell “exercising” correctly… I am not proud of this fact…)
Historically, I do not exercise. At all. Not even a little bit. Perhaps that’s why I can’t spell “exercise” and the variations thereof.
However, this summer I decided I needed to start exercising so I wouldn’t be the first to die in the Hunger Games. I also want to be like a character in an action movie (who needs rom-coms anyway?).
And, let’s be honest, running is rather glamorous. Pinterest is filled with pictures of running women looking awesome and all-around hard-core.
With these unrealistic expectations about running and a healthy overestimation of skill and endurance firmly planted in my mind, I started my running regimen. The idea was to train myself to enjoy running, because I loath it. Only because it makes me feel like I’m dying, though. Once I stopped feeling like death himself I could run regularly and just be awesome in general.
This lasted about a week. I blame it on the oppressive heat and the relentless hills in my neighborhood. Plus my mother said I shouldn’t do something I hate, as I wouldn’t keep up with it. Thanks for supporting my mediocrity, Mama! (That wasn’t sarcasm. I’m seriously thankful she helped me stop running.)
I found Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred in our basement. This would be the perfect replacement!
First of all, can we just talk about the name? Thirty Day Shred? The word “shred” doesn’t exactly have a positive connotation. Yes, I’d like to get “shredded” please. No… No, Jillian. I don’t wan’t to get “shredded.” I’d like to stay whole, thank you.
I started with level one and promptly felt like I was going to die. It was terrible. But for some reason I kept putting myself through the torture. Eventually I could make it through the workout without feeling like I was on my way to the grave. I was simply on my way to the hospital, with good chance of recovery. Albeit a long recovery. I decided I was ready for level two.
Level two, as the name would suggest, is harder than level one. So, I’m back to feeling like dying. I hate it, but I keep finding myself night after night doing everything Jillian tells me for 20 minutes. How did I get here? Why am I doing this? I thought I hated it… I think I hate it differently than I hate running. I hate running like a young girl hates Justin Bieber’s girlfriend (Is it still Selena Gomez?), but I hate Jillian’s workout like a business man hates his office job. It’s a more refined hate. It’s a hate that says “This may be awful, but I can power through. I’ve got kids to feed!” Though I do not, in fact, have kids to feed.
So I keep doing the 30 Day Shred, and consequently I utterly hate myself every night for 20 minutes.
Little does Jillian know, I’ve found a solution!
That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I’ve decided to become a hiker (sans beard, unkempt hair and flannel). Trail hiking, to be more specific. I am in no way interested in falling to my death. That’s real hiking. Pseudo-hiking is more my speed.
I figured I bought these expensive Chacos, so I might as well use them for what they were intended (which, apparently, is hiking, and not looking like your stereotypical college student). I also like mild-mannered adventures, and being outdoors will be good for me. You know, with the sun’s vitamin D and all. Picnics. Picnics are another good reason for hiking.
As I can’t very well hike every day (I currently have a painful blister on my foot from the last time I went hiking. My little feet need time to heal before I get all outdoorsy again), I’ve decided to 30-Day-Shred-It on the days I don’t walk around admiring nature. Eventually there will be more hiking and less Jillian. I feel it’s a good compromise.
I think the reason I like hiking is because it’s a secret workout. My mind thinks I’m just taking a pleasant stroll through the forest on a slight incline, but my muscles are in fact being toned. Zumba is another good secret workout. And Jazzercise (mostly because I have a strange fascination with the ’80s).
So I guess if I want to keep working out, I’ll need to be covert about it. Which will really help with my action-hero aspirations. It will also help in the event we become a dystopian society where young adults fight to the death in a caged arena for the amusement of those in power (though if the cut-off age is 18, I’m in the clear).
Il faut être matelot avant d’être capitaine,