Why going to the gym is so entertaining, or not...
I've been going to the gym seriously for months now. Three times a week, give or take, an hour at a time, weights and machines and stretching and all that stuff. I usually come home and collapse, body in spasm and totally wiped out. The thing with MS is I don't get to progress upwards like "normal" people - as I exercise, I feel like I should be getting better, stronger, quicker ("We can remake her, better, stronger...").
But it just ain't so. One day I cheerily work through a 30 minute elliptical session without dying. The next day I can barely do 10 minutes. I'm trying to increase my walking capability so I can go on this boat cruise in Newfoundland - which involves a 3 km walk through moose and bug infested territory. I can deal with the bugs, but outrunning a moose might be challenging, and I really don't know how they'll react to my walker...but the views look fantastic and I really really wanna go. So I struggle on, pushing my unwilling cramping muscles through yet another session.
Today I got extra exercise plotting the demise of an exerciser on one of those bouncy machines. She was doing extra knee lifts and swinging her arms around in circles and punching up in the air and lacked only the leg warmers to pass for Olivia Newton-John getting physical. She was working on the machine at level 15 and increasing the level every few minutes.
I wanted to push her over.
Just a little bit.
She was so damn perky.
She even had perky HAIR, for gawd's sake. I instantly hated her with a vile passion matched only by the vileness of my sweat as it flattened my non-perky hair to my skull.
What made it even worse is that my favourite gym guy, the one with the sexy accent, was flirting with her. The flirting was bad enough, but what I really envied was that she could do her high fast stepping while swinging her arms and listening to music and flirting back, without falling over! How the heck?
I was falling over walking on the treadmill. Slowly.
Totally annoying. I much prefer the overweight older men who sweat honestly and suffer along with me. We at least have the honour of our suffering.
Couldn't kill her lest I lose the fondness of the sexy gym guy. So I pretended to find her funny while I turned a delicate shade of green. Why the hell didn't I use my body more when it worked properly?
Ah well, too late, she cried, and waved her wooden leg (as my parents-in-law would say). I'm obviously going to have to find another reason to keep going to the gym. Hmm. Maybe this would work...