I haven’t been consistently exercising since I kicked this massive downsizing decluttering project, “Moving Zeal,” and there are parts of me that are justifying that by saying: “Well, you’re moving boxes around. Some are really heavy.” I also have been not sedentary for most of the day, so my metabolism is up. I’m sleeping more, too, and my weight has been within the same range. Still, I miss rowing: the effort, obligation, and self-confident satisfaction.
It takes time to prepare to exercise.
When you exercise daily, or twice daily, your mind doesn’t really stop and analyze the situation much. If you’re not vastly fatigued, and it’s that time of day, you’re putting on your exercise clothes, and you’re midway through your set before you even return to thinking about exercising.
When you stop, you have to remember everything.
Where are my exercising clothes? It’s raining out, how do I handle that again? I haven’t rowed in a while, so, oops, I’ve forgotten my hearing protection. Oh, I forgot my phone, with a stopwatch, at the charger. OK, now we’re doing it. We’re exercising.
Why did I ever stop?
That’s why I row daily or twice daily. When my life is sedentarily ordinary, I’m not packing boxes with possessions, figuring out what objects still possess me to own them, and which ones I’ve broken that spell so that I can get rid of them. I’m sitting down, writing, or maybe walking around, talking to people, and occasionally moving something around.
Rowing gives me anchor points in my day.
I can’t overextend myself because there’s always something to do, be it write, edit, or catch up on something. When the day is spent fighting against the clock, packing neatly what you can while you still have that time, until you just grab what you can and go, there’s no structure. I’m not working right now. It’s great for having the time and energy to pack, but it’s also more difficult because I’ve spent days inside, packing, going through the emotional turmoil of saying goodbye to materialistic desires I once had.
Filling bin after bin with recycling.
Confronting those hedonistic half-complete projects and realizing that you got yourself into this situation because you were hungry for distractions. When you realize that you were going out, seeking new experiences to buy, new items to put on your shelves, and realizing it was like buying a trophy rather than earning it. These false trophies are like the sugary foods we eat and drink.
They temporarily fuel us, but they don’t nourish us.
It may feel cool to have a bookcase full of unread books, but is it the same as actually reading them? Exercise machines and clothing don’t buy you fitness. Both books and machines enable that, but you’ve got to put in the daily effort. Whether you regress or progress is a daily decision you make. Regression is easier.
To progress means skipping a little comfort now to attain what’s past the pain: gain.
|Sources: My fitness experiences.
– This week’s weight: 233.5
– Last week’s weight: 230.5
– Difference: Yuck. Three pounds of stress and lack of exercise. I wrote this essay before getting this weight gain. It’s past 10 PM now, and I woke up at 6 AM. Today was a light move day, but yesterday and the day before were heavy move days.
|Inspirations: The essay was about me figuring out why I stopped rowing as much. Now, the rower is in the new apartment and I don’t know if I want to try rowing there, because it’s just so loud.|
|Related: Past weekly column entries.|
|Photo: The rowing machine and all the other stuff J.D. helped me move.|
|Written On: February 1st [21 minutes]|
|Last Edited: March 5th [some edits on the first paragraph]|