My neck hurts.
When I saw the trainer lean back on that big exercise ball and start doing crunches, I knew I was in trouble.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I said.
“Well, just give it a try. We can modify it later if we need to.”
When I signed up for the 12-week fitness challenge at my gym, I thought it would help me bring my three-times-per-week workouts to a new level. But after my hour-long meeting with the trainer yesterday, I’m starting to wonder if it’s for me.
I have no desire to spend eight hours a week at the gym. I’m not looking for washboard abs or buns of steel. Seriously. I’m 35. Pretty much, I just don’t want to have a heart attack anytime soon, which given my families history, will be an accomplishment in itself.
I get tired of hearing the rhetoric of “But you deserve this! You deserve to look and feel great!”
Well, yes and no.
Do I need to take care of myself? Absolutely.
But what is my motivation? Good health? A svelte figure? Pure selfishness? At this stage in my life and in the lives of my children, where is the balance when it comes to taking care of my body?
On the couch pounding down potato chips? At the gym for hours every day? I’m thinking somewhere in the middle of these two extremes is good. I don’t need abs of steel, but flabby abs of apple juice aren’t good either.
I’m thinking abs of cheese might be just right.