From Couch Potato to French Fry: Finding an Exercise Niche

Exercise has always been one of my deal-breakers. But contrary to what one might think, the issue is not being tired. I'm used to being tired. It's not the breathing hard, though I certainly do a lot of that. The fact of the matter is that I get bored. I don't like that I can't do it very well, so my mind starts to wander in any one of eighteen directions, and I give up in favor of something that occupies my mind. This has been remedied, to some extent, by music. Yet still, most days I talk myself into this catch-22 that remembers being tired, being bored, and then I don't feel like I have the energy to bother. Which of course means that I give up the energy I would have earned by exercising.

Thus continues a day in the life of a couch potato.

Thus, I've been trying over the last few days to research different forms of exercise. I started with things I didn't want. I didn't want something that was just exercise for the sake of exercise. After all, I'm an obnoxiously ambitious person by nature, and if I don't have a goal to work toward, then I usually don't see the point. And I didn't want something mindless. I hear walking clears your head, but if mine clears too much, it begins to rattle (and it's important to keep your brains from falling out.) Finally, I wanted something I could actually start to do. Ballroom dancing is well and good (and something I intend to learn someday) but I'm missing a few things. Like a teacher. A partner. The facilities. The ability to walk in, much less dance in, heels. And let's face it. Even if I had all of that, the effect would not be a pretty sight, and would most likely end in bruised feet, black eyes, sprained ankles and a fatally wounded pride.

And then, by chance, I discovered a T'ai chi DVD when I was out shopping yesterday. While it certainly won't teach you the nuances of the discipline that a class will, it had everything I was looking for. Focus. Discipline. An attainable goal. It even addresses balance and coordination (which is something I've discovered I have astonishingly little of.) As a bonus: it's a slowed-down version of a discipline that is fully capable of kicking some ass. Which has its own value, of course.

It's probably not surprising that I loved it. I realize that I'm not very good. (Okay... I'm not any good.) But it's a good place to start learning, to start exercising. And then I can get more involved via a class (provided there is one available in close proximity) or not, as I choose. If I keep at it, now that I've found something I honestly like to do, it has a double benefit. Exercise that I'm excited about to help me lose weight... and something new and different I can learn.

Maybe then, the key to staying on task with exercise is to figure out what it is that you want. To be honest, realistic, and narrow down your choices based on your own situation. And using that, find an activity that can act as a hobby.

Though my sore body protests, it certainly beats sitting on the couch.

The Great Experiment

I am 23 years old. 5'3". Styled, dark blonde hair (the color of "twilight and shadows", according to a friend in a corny moment.) Intellectual-meets-trendy box rim glasses. Full lips, perfect teeth, and large, deep grey eyes someone, someday will get lost in.

I am also 300 pounds.

Now, if you're anything like me, you just imagined something akin to the figure in Wii Fit blowing up to epidemic proportions, as if inflated with a large tire pump, while the computer-chipmunk voice oogles and says "omg! omg!" Or perhaps, this is only another of my infinitely odd mental pictures.

I've lived with this problem for most of my life. When I was a child, it was "baby fat". I operated on the assumption that it was a temporary condition, like acne. It too, would drift away one day on its own accord. Not surprisingly... it hasn't.

I always thought that my problem with my weight was that I didn't like what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I didn't like that I couldn't wear trendy clothes, didn't like that my body was man-repellent, personified. After awhile, I thought that I didn't like that I wasn't healthy. That I couldn't cross my legs. Couldn't wear skirts without my legs chafing. Couldn't climb multiple flights of stairs without needing CPR and a cheer squad.

I was wrong. It's all those things. I now wonder how it is that I let something like this rule over me. Everything I do, my weight comes into play first. Will I fit? Can I do it and keep up? Will I look like an idiot? Will others stare? Will I bump into people? (After all, the butt can be a lethal weapon, given enough circumference.) The words "does this dress make me look fat" never crossed my mind, because let's face it. If you can't see it, you either have the sight of Stevie Wonder or the integrity of Rod Blagojevich.

And so, all these things in mind, life becomes not about my potential, not about my capabilities, but about how to get past my weight long enough to do it. Which makes my entire life about what I can't do. I want to be done with that life, that perspective. Hence, the experiment.

I've seen blogs online about women losing weight. One in particular called "The Adventures of Dietgirl" (which I really recommend, should you get the chance.) Maybe mine will be nothing new and different. But it's a way to say what I want to say, to keep myself accountable as I go down this new, exciting road filled with fruit, yoga, and all around ass-kicking. It's my effort to give some humor and encouragement to someone else as I go, so that I have the motivation to keep trying.

So join me for the ride, dear friend, if the road be long and your butt be as big as mine. It's sure to be one heck of a trip.