My “Other” Exercises
I have lied and said that I enjoy exercise.
I don’t. I enjoy eating, I enjoy feeling good, I enjoy not having a bulging belly. Exercise is only the means to those ends.
Oh, sure, I like going for a walk if the weather is nice and the scenery is pleasant. I can’t say that I like going out in frigid temperatures, although I have read that exposing yourself to cold is “good for you”.
I’d rather be eating something delicious while sitting in front of the fireplace with that beautiful woman who was foolish enough to marry me a long time ago.
And yes, doing pushups might feel good for the first few dozen, but after that, hell no, it hurts. And no matter what I do, I end up sweaty and have to get in the shower, which is fine and dandy by itself, but after I have to squeegee the walls and make sure not to drip water on the floors or I’ll be hearing from You Know Who about that.
You know what hurts the most? Pullups. Agonizing! This is thanks to my idiot sixteen year old stuff doing handstand pushups on parallel bars. Sure, impress the gang, which he could have done from the floor, but no-o-o, he had to be up on the bars and, after the second pushup, fell over sideways, ripping the hell out of his left biceps and scapula. Yeah, that was smart!
Exercise as punishment
No, not punishment for me, punishment for my stomach.
The whiny brat is such a complainer. “Ooh, you didn’t give me enough breakfast, how about an Apple Cinnamon Bar?”
I did give it enough breakfast. I gave it enough breakfast to keep it comfy in my 30–30 jeans.
So, I say, “Sure, but that’s an extra 140 calories, which costs another mile and a half walk or so.”