On My Planet

Yesterday I took my kid to a local waterslide park and spent literally HOURS chasing him around, riding down slides, bouncing around in a wave pool, and ingesting pool water. It was a total blast and as planned, the combination of sunshine, chlorine, overactivity, and hotdogs had my kid happily passed out like the drunkard in some early Irish novel in the car on the way home.

But the whole time we were there I kept thinking to myself -- why can't this be more beneficial? I mean sure, mathematically speaking I had to have burned off some decimal points worth of calories, but even I know that there's no way to argue that standing in line with throngs of summer camp kids waiting for my chance to slide my butt down modified PVC did me any sort of weight loss favors at all.

      ..and honestly, that sucks.

The workout regimen I keep up with at home leaves me feeling good when I'm done, but it makes me feel utterly FAT and OUT OF SHAPE while I'm doing it. It's a sensation reminiscent to the humility that highschool presidential fitness tests would always bring -- where not only were you always left hanging there trying to will a pull-up out of yourself so you could at least say you did ONE, but you had the added hell of knowing that eternal-crush object Cathy Mortensen was standing somewhere nearby witnessing this failure firsthand, eternally relegating you to backrub-only status.

I think that's part of why I always crash and burn on my exercise kicks. No matter how much I do these things to get myself in better shape, they always make me feel like shit about myself. Weekly regimens of crunches and curls might be doing me some sort of good in the long run, but each one I attempt still feels like a little part of me is dying.

I understand that getting in shape takes time and that the reward is worth the struggle, but really and honestly -- every time I go to work out there's a voice in my head that says:

      "oh man, are we really doing this again?"