Have you ever been scared of physical exercise?
Like – legit scared in the sense that every fiber of your being knows you’re at serious risk of perishing on the spot? I have. I am. I currently feel the iron fist of death terror clamp around my heart. Has anyone seen my over-acting-drama OSCAR anywhere?
Still – now that we’re officially allowed to exercise outside again (in groups of 4, adhering to the social distance rules) – the time has come to venture out onto the softball pitch again. AKA: we’re planning on a training Monday night. And I’m terrified. Honest to god freaked out terrified.
Because let me be honest: Ever since the new lockdown (aka, somewhere around October) I have done pretty much NOTHING that would officially count as exercise. Sure, there’s been some sexercising –winkwinknudgenudge– and I HAVE pokewalked/skated a couple of laps but on the whole ’30 minutes of exercise a day is good for you’ scale I’ve been a GRAND failure.
The thing about stamina, however, is that you actually need to keep working on it to be able to retain it. And if you don’t – it disappears. And it disappears FAST. These days I can get winded from running up the stairs a bit too fast. Or by carrying in the groceries ALL IN ONE GO (because we all know that doing it in two turns is not a thing). I swear that attitude is going to see me break my pinkie one day, when hanging a way-too-heavy-bag on an extremity that is not meant for carrying weight like that. But any sort of exertion sees me unattractively huffing and puffing and grumbling at myself for letting myself deteriorate this far.
The same thing goes for muscles, btw. You can build up tension and bulk and mass all you like, but as soon as you stop moving – it melts away. Sugar in the rain kinda deal. Just…poof….gone. And this is ALSO becoming an issue. Especially with my crappy body and things-dislocating-hypermobility. I NEED my strength and muscles to even function as a normal human being. Even though I despised every physiotherapist who ever prescribed me daily exercises to build up the specific muscles that’ll help keep things in place better. But stopping with exercise altogether? Bad plan man, bad plan.
I mean, having to catch your breath after a bit of a tumble with the honey is all well and good. But having to wriggle your hip back into its socket after weight is put on it at just the wrong angle? Not a good thing. Seriously.
So after pretty much 5 months of doing exactly zippity jack squat (or however you say that) I am unwilling to say the least, and full-on panicking to say the most – to actually get back into motion again. So, seeing as I’m currently feeling as though I only have three more days to live: I want you all to serve McDonalds at my funeral. And there need to be comfort-alpacas for people to hug it out with and console their grief.
I’m probably going to die during or straight after the warm-up. And that’s considering whether I can still bend over to put on my shinguards.