In an age of gyms, diets, and low-fat everything, I often feel that I’m the only one not working out. I have never been on a diet, nor have I ever been to a gym, unless you count high school gym class more than a decade ago. I also usually avoid low-fat foods on the grounds that I actually can taste the difference.
Until a few years ago, none of this was a problem.
When I was in college, I quit my job at a hardware store and took a job as a graphic designer. With the change in jobs, I experienced a major decrease in my activity level. Instead of walking around helping customers, I found myself sitting behind a computer all day. Add to that the time I sat in class and I was spending a good twelve to fourteen hours a day just rotting in a chair.
Up to this point, I had worn the same pant size since I was in junior high. Then I switched to a desk job and within a few months my size began to change. Since I was nearing thirty, this really wasn’t all that surprising. The problem is, I was only gaining weight in my midsection. I wouldn’t mind so much if the weight was distributed evenly across my body, but even with the extra pounds I retained my flat butt and thin shoulders.
I didn’t realize how much weight I’d gained until my wife’s sister got married. My wife looked at the wedding pictures and said I looked pregnant. A few months later, I saw an old high school buddy for the first time in years. When he decided to give my “baby” a name, I knew it was time for a change.
I now have a confession to make: I am the world’s biggest procrastinator. If the road to Hell really is paved with good intentions, then I’m definitely going to Hell. It seems all I have are good intentions and a brain full of half-finished plans. To be honest, most of the problem is motivation. Why go to the trouble of working out when I could hit snooze and get an extra hour of sleep instead? Why take the time to exercise when I could be reading a good book or surfing the Internet?
One night while getting ready for bed, I made a resolution. I decided that when my alarm went off the next morning, I was going to get right up and do sit-ups. The next morning, I awoke to severe pain in my lower abdomen. I figured it was cancer or appendicitis, but the doctor said it was just a hernia. Apparently the mere thought of exercise was enough to cause my body to rebel.
One surgery and several months later, I’m again thinking of working out. If you’re reading this article, you can probably guess what I’m choosing to do instead. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow…
This article originally appeared in April 2011 on goodblogs.com