4-1-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
It's All About the Burn
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
"It's all
about the burn, baby!" Didn't Jane Fonda say that in the 80's about
exercising? And has my memory failed me, or didn't she claim to LIKE the 'burn'-
that horrific screech of pain from the body when it is being pushed beyond its
endurance? Please. Give me a colossal break.
When I started
exercising a year ago with my husband, we went into it easily. After all, prior
to that point, my idea of a harsh aerobic workout meant parking in a far away
spot at Walmart. So naturally, I wasn't too gung ho about the whole concept of
doing work for, well, if not pleasure, than at least just for good health. We
started out with walking. Some people might tell you that walking is a wimpy
form of exercise; that the process of going a mile or more on foot is just as
easy and pleasurable as eating a slice of pie. I say, BRING ON THE PIE!
The first couple
of months were rather rough for me. My sluggish body resisted my efforts to
shape it up; crying out in pain and wheezing as we briskly walked up the
numerous giant (mountain-like, it seemed to me) hills in our neighborhood.
Eventually, the daily walks became easy, and we picked up the pace.
Again, my body
screamed it's protest; and, unlike Ms. Fonda, I was not loving the burn.
By summer of
last year, the walks had become rather easy, but I wasn't looking to add any
more to my exercise plate. I was quite thrilled that the walking process had
become routine enough that I wasn't requiring oxygen in order to make it up the
hills, even on the hottest of evenings. We stayed status quo on the exercise
until just before Christmas when I read an article that said lifting weights
would increase your metabolism. HELLO!
My husband had
been trying to get me into weight lifting for some time. "You know,"
he had said, "you look really great, but you could actually get some muscle
tone if you would lift weights with me." Oh, you
can imagine how well that went over. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!" I shot back
at him, my temper as red hot as my hair. "ARE YOU SAYING I AM
FLABBY?!!!!"
Walking
backwards, he mumbled something about how GREAT I looked, really, really good,
and what had he been thinking.
Naturally I
sulked about this for weeks. Until, of course, I read the article which promised
me the ability to eat more and not gain weight; well, sign me up!
The plan we
incorporated into our weekly exercise involved lower and body weight lifting
exercising, as well as 200 situps.
When I first
tried to do the 200 situps; the "burn" stopped me at 13. It was only a
matter of a few weeks until I had conquered the situps, however, because my
fierce sense of competition drove me to complete the task before my husband. If
he did 60, I would do 80. If he managed 100, I would eke out 120. I just had to
"win".
About two weeks
ago, we added running to our schedule. This was primarily due to the fact that I
had realized that the more I exercise, the more I can eat, and while, baby, I do
NOT love the burn; baby, I love that Chickfillet sandwich. I was also worried
about my forty one year old hubby who likes to spend his Sunday afternoons
playing soccer which involves miles and miles of running full tilt- I figured if
he was in boffo shape, he would be less likely to have a heart attack out there
in the brutal southern sun running around like a teenager.
One of the
upsides, I guess, about exercising is that it has opened up a whole new forum in
shopping for me. I am now able to search for that perfect little running outfit;
something which I am enjoying very much. The outfits themselves, however, are
giving my teenaged children the heebie jeebies.
When I came out
a few nights ago in my crop top and running pants (yes, my stomach was bared;
but it was relatively flub-free; I checked!) my oldest son, who is high school,
took one look at me and then made a noise something like this: "Arrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhh!"
I asked him to clarify and he said, "I dunno. It's just creepy to see your
mother in a sports bra."
I had to agree
that that probably would be a rather creepy experience, and having never seen my
mother in a sports bra (and hoping never to); I couldn't really relate to the
trauma I was inducing. I still can't love the burn. Try
as I may, I dread every minute of exercise I have to do. I can only complete the
work knowing that each mile I run is another Big Mac I can consume without
weight gain the following day. It may not work for Jane Fonda, but for me, it's
all about the LUNCH!