Marching Into The Peace Corps, pt 7: Agony of De Feet
by When I think of the “E” word (exercise), I have mixed emotions ranging from a low, whinny groan to not wanting to endure physical pain. People have talked and written about a phenomenon called an “exercise high”, but I never experienced it; by the end of my workouts, I always felt like two minutes from death. “I feel great after my workouts!” Shut up.
I never had those wonderful, energized, and reduced stress feelings. Instead, I had the desperate feeling of reaching for an imaginary oxygen mask to avoid suffocation. Exhausted and barely able to drive home was the other common side effect I routinely experienced. Is it any wonder I’ve never been a fan of working out? “Keep going for at least two weeks – you’re shedding toxins and that’s why you feel so bad.” They couldn’t use that line on me after three months of regular workouts at the gym, so whatever the cause, I didn’t appreciate it.
Short walks to the grocery store were a necessary trade off – if I didn’t walk, I didn’t eat. It was a pretty simple equation with obvious consequences, and although Momma didn’t raise no fool, she at least taught me how to weigh the lesser of two evils when it came to picking between “bad” and “worse”.
On my first walk, I got a cat call whistle from a pick up truck – totally unwarranted because I weigh one hundred and <cough!> pounds, but I knew at some point I’d run into some wise guy that would pull that stunt. Granted, it felt a little embarrassing and slightly good – even if it was to make fun of me. No, don’t even ask at this point how much a cough weighs…I’m not going to tell you! People who know me in person know approximately how much it is. When I get to the end of the line, I will reveal the starting number.
Once I heard God’s voice, the whole game plan changed overnight. I knew I would have to get back in the saddle and begin exercising. There’s something in the overall picture I cannot reconcile in my own brain. I wouldn’t exercise for myself, and I wouldn’t exercise in an attempt to look perfect to attract a mate. Why God’s voice turned out to be such a motivator this time around, I don’t know, but I find myself struggling to answer the question.
The first couple of walks to the store were for selfish motivations; the walks that followed were for exercise. It started simply enough – I would walk down the alley and around the duck pond and when I ran out of breath, I would take a rest and then head home. The best laid plans often have a way of being written by someone else, as I was to discover.
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