“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She’s ninety-seven now, and we don’t know where the heck she is.” – Ellen DeGeneres
Are you too tired to remember the three F’s? “Fat, Frumpy and Fatigued!” And while your sensitive mate should deny you being fat and frumpy, there’s no arguing when you’re totally fatigued, lifting your head off the pillow seems impossible; let alone lifting weights.
The only thing we desire when we’re this drained is catching some Z’s. Instead, experts say we’d benefit from using that Stairclimber which serves as a wine-rack in our living room. (I’m into Art Deco!) “Exercising will give you energy!” they proclaim. Now I only received a “B” in Logic 101, but don’t you first need to HAVE energy to exercise?
These experts claim exercise brings a flood of Indoor Fins. Because the last time you snorkeled in your den was…? Oh…Endorphins! Those little devils will help with fatigue, especially if you have (a medical catch phrase getting more common for women these days) “Adrenal Fatigue.” Perfect solution: I’ll put one of my adrenal glands on an Exercycle, while the other swims laps. Meanwhile…. I sleep!
Quite honestly, we’re not just too tired to exercise; we’re too confused. Should we do Aerobic? (Definition: Official language of Arab countries) or Cardio? (Definition: To deal a feisty hand of Crazy 8’s!) Turns out they mean the same thing, and a half hour each day will give us weary women a wonderful jump-start to our morning. A thirty-minute root canal would wake us up too, but rarely do I hear an “expert” recommend that.
Nevertheless, I went for a work-out for the first time yesterday. I’ve never done more huffing, puffing, heaving, tugging, and pushing before – – But it was worth it – – I succeeded in getting my gym shorts on just fine!
At the door, I was greeted by Gwyneth Paltrow’s twin sister chirping, “Hya, I’m Kimba! Welcomma to our Gymba. Wanna try Zumba?”
Can I just say – – “Rule of thumba: When you go outa on a limba, and shake your bumma to La Bamba, you’re gonna feel super dumba!”
After being laughed out of the crazy Latin-inspired dance class, I wandered exhaustedly into the equipment room where a handsome young fitness instructor named (according to large tag across shirt) Nike, offered to show me where I could pump. Having weaned my son from breastfeeding years ago, I demurely declined. He gestured at the weights while grunting, “Iron!” I casually explained that I use the drycleaners down the street. He and his friend Reebok, continued staring oddly as I glanced behind them, swooning over the only comfy, padded, flat surface in the room – – a Slantboard! Yawning, I pulled on my jammies, blew everyone a goodnight kiss, and curled up for my well-deserved nap!