Have I ever mentioned just how much I hate exercising? I mean, I really hate exercising – always have. Why exert yourself, and heaven forbid, sweat, when you can be doing something far more relaxing, like reading a book or watching your favorite TV show?
This apathy towards exercise was probably a massive factor in my weight gain of epic proportion over the past 8 years, and when I joined Weight Watchers, DH signed us up for a gym membership not long after. I gave it the old college try for a little while, but I hated it, and slowly stopped going. DH, however, kept at it, and hired a personal trainer a couple of months ago to show him what he needed to do in the weightlifting department.
I blithely watched him go to the gym several times a week, while I stayed home, made dinner, and watched myriad episodes of House Hunters
on HGTV. (I love that show, but people can be real bitches when they’re looking at houses – “The bedrooms are a little small” – like a kid needs a 15’ x 15’ bedroom? But I digress…)
Then, about six weeks ago, something happened. DH started making
me go to the gym. I’m not kidding. I would come home and the bastard (sorry, honey, but I seriously hated you then) would badger and guilt-trip me until I put my gym clothes on and go with him to work out. I would moan and complain and be in a general pissed-off mood until about 5 minutes into my warmup on the stationary bike, when the endorphins would kick in and I would start feeling better. I would leave the gym in a nicer mood than when I came in, but I still maintained that I hated going.
This pattern went on twice a week for about three weeks – badger, bitch and moan, work out, come home – until one day, I came home from work, immediately went to the bedroom, changed into my gym clothes, and went with DH to the gym—without complaint, shockingly enough. I even went a third time last week, and, when DH told me yesterday that he was going to be late and to go to the gym without him, you know what I did? I got home, changed clothes, and went to work out, all. by. my. self. And you know what? I rather enjoyed it.
I can’t pinpoint what caused me to change my attitude toward working out, whether it was my forming a habit or just resigning myself to the inevitable that if I didn’t go I would be getting hell from my husband, but in any event, I don’t mind it as much anymore.
Now if I could only change my attitude towards my job like I did exercising, I'd be set!