Lifestyle
I’ve Always Disliked Exercise — Until Recently
I’ve had a complicated relationship with exercise. I enjoy the satisfaction of completing a workout, but the entire process leading up to it is a different story. I struggle to fit it into my hectic schedule, and it always feels like a monumental effort. I envy those who feel “off” when they skip a workout, and I’ve yet to experience the legendary rush of endorphins that supposedly brings euphoria. Why is the runner’s high always just out of reach?
My mixed feelings about fitness might stem from my childhood. My father often said, “The primary role of the human body is to keep the head from rolling around on the ground.” Our family wasn’t particularly athletic; ping pong was our sport of choice. Yet, over the years, we accumulated a rowing machine, two stationary bikes, and a treadmill. I never saw my parents actually use this equipment, but perhaps they thought that owning it was enough to reap some psychological rewards.
It’s no wonder I never established a consistent exercise routine that felt meaningful—one that didn’t just aim for the promise of a chocolate cake at the finish line.
When I became a mother to three energetic kids, I certainly got my share of cardio chasing after them. Carrying them and their endless belongings felt like strength training too. But as they grew older, their energy seemed to multiply alongside my fatigue. Doctors shifted from casual inquiries about my exercise habits to detailed discussions about my weekly activity. My PCP even demonstrated the perfect plank right there in the office.
I recognized the importance of being healthy and strong for my family, and I knew exercise could help. However, with kids, a demanding job, and a long commute, fitting it into my life felt impossible. I reached out to my friend Mia, who had been attending a 5:30 AM boot camp, returning home before her family awoke. I loved the idea of “camp,” even if it meant sacrificing an hour of sleep.
The next morning, Mia picked me up at 5:15 and drove us to a nearby parking lot, where an unexpectedly large group of energetic individuals were warming up by running laps. “Mia, if this is the warm-up,” I asked, “what does the actual workout look like?”
She laughed; I wasn’t joking. Boot camp was a series of progressive exercises—first one, then one and two, and so on, until you felt like passing out. Every exercise was tough, but the “burpee” was the worst. I should have guessed from the name. It involved jumping, squatting, planking, and almost crying. While everyone around me pushed through their sets, I was just trying to keep up while mourning the lost hour of sleep.
When the session ended, Mia cheerfully informed me I had done great. If “great” meant “Wow, I had no idea you were this out of shape, but at least you didn’t collapse,” she was spot on. She later told me that after her first boot camp, she had actually been sick. If I had known that beforehand, I might have opted out. I was looking to recharge, not to regurgitate.
I decided to skip boot camp and try yoga instead, drawn to the idea of something more calming and introspective. The class took place in a cozy studio with LED candles flickering softly. Outside, it was raw and rainy, but inside it felt warm and inviting compared to that boot-camp parking lot.
Our instructor guided us through gentle stretches accompanied by soothing music. “I can handle this,” I thought. “Maybe I can even sneak in a nap.” But soon, he adjusted the thermostat and called out positions: “updog, downdog, cat, cow, warrior II.” Just as I was getting the hang of one pose, he was already onto the next. The strength and flexibility of my classmates were impressive, as was the sweat pouring off them. I was still in child’s pose, pretending to exercise.
Eventually, I decided to venture out on my own. There’s a lovely rail trail near my home that runs alongside a lake, and it seemed like the perfect place to become a runner. I liked the idea of being able to say, “I’m just going for a run; I’ll be back soon.” So, I set out for my “run,” which was a generous term for what was more of a slow jog. On my second outing, I got my son to join me, and he easily outpaced me while just walking.
By my third attempt, I abandoned the notion of running and embraced a brisk walk instead. I listened to an audiobook I had downloaded for my commute, and something wonderful happened: I lost track of time.
I completed the loop but wanted to keep listening, so I saved the rest for the next day’s walk. The following day, my friend Zoe called, and I spent the hour walking and chatting.
Soon, I got creative. I could walk and talk, walk and read, or even walk and catch up on the news. I created a personalized playlist filled with all the cheesy songs I loved and marched to my own rhythm. Exercise transformed into a delightful byproduct of something I genuinely enjoyed—“me time.” It may not induce euphoria, but it’s far from the discomfort of those earlier workouts.
I don’t burn as many calories as I would at boot camp, and saying “I’m going for a walk” doesn’t carry the same flair as “I’m going for a run.” Yet, walking has naturally integrated itself into my routine, and I welcome it. I appreciate that I’m the one setting the pace, and I have no intention of ever doing a burpee. For now, I’ll simply focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
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Summary:
This article explores the author’s journey from disliking exercise to discovering a more enjoyable and sustainable approach to physical activity. Initially turned off by traditional workouts and the pressures of fitting exercise into a busy schedule, she eventually found joy in walking, which allowed her to combine movement with relaxation and personal time. By embracing a gentler approach to fitness, she learned to appreciate the benefits of physical activity without the stress of high-intensity classes.