A Little Backstory
I hate physical activity. This is deeply ingrained in my psychological workings. When I step back and try to isolate the root cause of this hatred, I can uncover several aspects of my personality that probably, when combined, comprise this hatred of physical activity. These include:
- Being “hot” makes me irritable.
- Sweating makes me borderline furious. (At what? At everything.)
- I’d rather be reading.
My lifelong hatred of physical activity resulted in me largely avoiding it. I played softball as a young girl, mostly because I could avoid running if I hit the ball far enough. I was a bowler, for chrissakes.
It probably goes without saying that I was overweight most of my life, and I still am. I have been dieting for as long as I can remember, but only every so often would I exercise in my attempts to lose weight. When it came to losing weight and getting healthy, I almost never stuck with anything, except for the deprivation. For some reason, I’m great at depriving myself of things I want, yet terrible at forcing myself to do what I don’t want to do, like exercise. I tried several different things, even activities I enjoyed more than dreaded, but could never consistently incorporate physical activity into my life.
Why was it I couldn’t stick with physical activity? Perhaps it was time to tap into the same neurons that were committed to my dietary misery and see if I could use them for physical misery. I realized it was time to try something completely unlike anything I had tried before. I became convinced it was time to go so far outside my comfort zone that I was in my over-my-dead-body zone. What activity did I fear and hate more than almost any other physical activity? What activity had I sworn I would never, like, ever give a shot? Running. Continue reading