Exercise

My not so fit legs in my comfort-fit jeans (Men's 560 34x30 if you must know) reflected in a shop window. We hear so much about it. Exericise. And diet. The cure for so many things. But. Still. When we talk about health care we are talking about drugs and hospitals and such.

In my recycled resolutions (made four years ago in this entry) I said I should "continue my workouts and start playing tennis and maybe racquetball."

I'm in a bit of a rut with my workouts, I guess. But I probably have continued pretty well. Tennis doesn't do much for the fitness as played by me, but I enjoy it. And racquetball? Forget it? No one to play with and no desire to play. I spend too much time on the recumbent bike. Which is to say I need to also spend minutes on the rowing machine or treadmill or stair climber. And I need to get a trainer to jump start my weight work. And, you know, do more ab work. Always more ab work. I no longer really feel like I've done much when I workout although I am probably usually doing more than I was when those resolutions were written. And I weigh fifteen pounds less. But no, so far little progress on the lose five pounds front. Think cheese. On nachos. With fatty chips. And more cheese. An avocado Reuben. And last night, to celebrate a day in which I didn't have to take any decongestants (for our local scourge of cedar fever) I had two cocktails.

I'm really going to exercise in better ways. Honest. Just as soon as I can be at the gym without worrying that I should be taking care of something else. Which is never I guess. But I have to be glad that I have, indeed, continued my workouts at all. I know occasionally when I'm doing things around the house or have to climb some stairs that I feel much more fit than I did back when I made that resolution. That's something. But, since I'm still fretting about my health, not clearly enough. This is one of those things you never acomplish. You just wake up the next day and face the need again.