Middle age has sunk in. Hard. Body doesn’t react as well as it used to…weight doesn’t come off as easily…not as quick as I used to be…so on, and so forth…
And so there I was today, on the elliptical. Halfway through my workout, I was ready to stop. Why the hell should I submit myself to this? What does it matter anymore? It’s hard, it’s boring, it’s no fun, it’s not taking the weight off or slimming my body with the speed it did ten years ago. I’m in relatively good health otherwise per my most recent physical. I’m extremely busy with work, and coming home and ‘having’ to do this routine just flat out sucks. I’ll never have the body that I did in my 20s, dammit. Why do I put myself through a workout that brings very little joy to my life?
But then a thought hit me. What if I had been a spectator at the Boston Marathon bombing? (I’d never run a marathon, no matter what!) Would I have had the physical strength to help? Would I have been able to carry out someone? If I was injured, would my fat ass make it difficult for someone else to carry me out???? Fuck that. I want to be ready to help. To be a sheepdog instead of a sheep. I want to be prepared to be able to stand up against the wolves, even if it never happens to me personally (please dear God). I’m sure just about each and every one of those participants and spectators never thought about the circumstances that happened to them. But it did, and they had to react. Given the right circumstances, I don’t want to be a burden.
So I finished my workout. Because it does matter.