I don’t. I like having fun. I like challenging myself. I like finding out what I’m capable of. What I don’t like is the chore, the boring, have-to-get-it-done-and-check-it-off-the-list exercise.
I’m in this grey area right now between the two weeks post-surgery the doctor said I could resume “low impact activity” and the two months date by which point he said I could be back to a sport. A couple or three times a week half-hour sessions with weights isn’t cutting it for me, mentally or physically. I’m anxious to start a sport but I can tell I’m not physically ready yet, and I’m trying so hard to be smart this time.
So I thought I’d at least get some activity in, maybe a little conditioning (I did little to no “cardio” while I was powerlifting, and lying around recovering for six weeks didn’t help matters) and it’s too cold out to walk, so I hopped on the elliptical at lunchtime today in the little gym in a dark corner of my office’s basement.
That was the longest, most boring, tortuous 20 minutes of my life. I spent the entire time staring at the countdown clock, waiting for 20 minutes to be up. I swear it had to have been gong in reverse when I wasn’t looking. I know people willingly use ellipticals and treadmills — many people even own them. But oh. my. gosh. I would rather be sitting at some random Eastern European bus stop in the freezing cold than do that again.
Luckily it’s going to warm up this week so I can at least go for walks outside. It’s not much, but if I can’t just do 100 burpees for time, then at least I can enjoy myself on a stroll. Until the real fun can begin, that is. And I’m definitely counting down to that.