The Daily Procrastinator

Yes, you read the title of this post correctly. In the past 48 hours, procrastinators, I have discovered the sad truth: I am not manly enough for yoga.

I have to preface this story with a little background. Last January, I resolved to become the “SomewhatLessBigRedPoet.” Thus far, it’s been going pretty well. I’ve changed the way I eat, and I try to work out at least occasionally. When I first started on this mission, I ran four or five days every week. I quickly discovered that my knees and ankles didn’t appreciate the impact of feet on concrete, so I gave up on running and just redoubled my efforts to eat healthy. All went well, and I reached a weight that I’m really happy with.

Now, I want to tone up. Weighing less is good, but weighing less and looking sexy would be even better. Conveniently, my mother is a big supporter of my efforts to get in shape, and about a two months ago, she sent me one of those sets of workout DVDs that are advertised on obscure television channels in the middle of the day. On Saturday morning, I opened the DVDs for the first time.

There are a dozen discs in the set, and many of them have intimidating titles like “Ab Ripper.” I flipped through them with some trepidation until I saw a disc called “Yoga.” Immediately, visions of thin, meditative, far Eastern men flashed to mind. Aha, I thought to myself, Yoga. This will be a nice, easy way to slowly immerse myself back into the world of working out.

Wrong.

After practicing the positions Downward Facing Dog, Warrior 1, Warrior 2, Reverse Warrior, and Runner’s Pose, my entire body hurts. I have pain in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. After some tentative inquiries on Google, it seems I may acquainted myself with such positions as Groin Pull and Strained Oblique.

Behold: the Downward Facing Dog. I'm not sure it looks like this when I do it.

As I shambled up the stairs to work this morning, I’m sure the look on my face was similar to the face I might make while simultaneously hitting my thumb with a hammer and passing a kidney stone. It couldn’t have been pretty. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a little voice that keeps saying, That soreness is PROGRESS. It means you had a good workout, but you need to work a little harder. I hate that voice.

Still, the voice is right. I don’t think I’ll go back to yoga just yet, though. Maybe I’ll try the “Ab Ripper.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Readers, you will laugh at this: I just got my first video game system. Ever. How I find myself hanging with the crowd on this blog is a mystery to me. Nevertheless, I am the proud new owner of a Wii, and perhaps even more exciting, a Wii Fit.

Where are the sweaty users, collapsed in a heap on the floor?

The Wii Fit package features four happy people doing exercises. They’re dressed in white, smiling and generally having a good time. And I’ll admit, the first time I tried the Wii Fit at a relative’s house, I felt the same way. I had loads of fun as I stood there in my street clothes and bare feet, going through the motions without breaking a sweat.

And then I got one for my birthday.

Now, let’s set the stage for this. I work out between four and six days each week, depending on my schedule. I used to own a Pilates and yoga studio. My blood pressure is low, my cholesterol rocks, my BMI is awesome. I’ve done two half marathons in the last two years. I am the sort of person who takes their exercising seriously. Today, I tried the system out at home for the first time, wearing workout clothes and really doing the exercises.

The Wii Fit kicked my ass.

There’s no other way to explain it. I went through the poses one by one, Yoga section first. Breathing? Check. Half Moon? Check. Warrior? Bring it on. But then I got to the Strength exercises. Holy Christmas! The Push-Up and Plank? Brutal! Jackknife, done in pace with the whistle? Stunningly hard.

It wasn’t long before I was huffing and puffing and breaking a sweat. And don’t let the “fun stuff” fool you. The Aerobics and Balance Games may look easy, but it doesn’t take long before you’re pretty much wiped out. As I turned off the console and collapsed on the couch, I couldn’t believe how much of a workout I’d gotten from a video game. And I can’t wait until tomorrow to try again and hopefully beat my scores from today.

There comes a time in your life when you have to make tough decisions.  Today was that day for me, a day where I needed to evaluate the course that my life was taking, a day where I looked to the future instead of the past.  Why today, you ask?  Because I discovered my rollerblades in a box in the garage.

Not me. But this is proof that I have been paying attention and do know our readership demographics.

I honestly can’t tell you how long they’ve been there, or the last time I used them.  I have a sneaking suspicion that they were living in this very same box prior to the last move, nearly four years ago.  Logic would tell you that if I haven’t used them since the first four years of the W administration, there was probably a pretty good chance that I wouldn’t be using them again anytime soon.

Logic does not apply to these situations.

This strange little voice appeared in my head.  “Oooh!  Rollerblades!  That would be fun!  And it’s great exercise!”  The more rational part of my brain laughed maniacally at the thought of  me, completely out of practice, in a heap on the sidewalk.  I could see neighbor children rolling up on their Razor scooters, wondering what happened to the crazy lady on rollerblades.

But that wasn’t the only treasure in this Box of Fitness Past.  There was also the softball glove for when I played (again as the token girl) on a co-ed corporate team in 2002.  “I can’t throw this away,” I thought to myself.  “It’s in great condition and I might decide to play again.”  Of course, as I no longer work for a corporation and have no time to spend playing softball two nights a week, the odds of that happening are close to nil.

There were other goodies in there, too.  A yoga mat, some dumbbells, a Pilates ring, a deflated basketball and a knee brace that probably hasn’t fit me since I was 14.  A more rational person would have walked them directly to the garbage can, never to be seen or heard from again.  I am not that person.  Instead, I loaded all of these goodies into a large garbage bag with the intention of taking them to the garbage, but then decided to set them aside so I could think about it for a while longer.  

I realized that getting rid of these things was like kissing a part of my past goodbye; admitting that I no longer have the balance or stamina to handle rollerblades doesn’t make me feel sensible, it makes me feel old.  

So for now, all of the gear will remain in the garage, nestled out of the way.  Who know, maybe there will come a day where I wake up and decide that I desperately want to skate my way to the nearest softball field and look for a corporate co-ed slow-pitch team to join.