Fit & Fat

The subject of exercise has occupied my thoughts lately. I really don't do much to maintain my health. Sure, I sleep reasonably well, and I try to eat healthy foods. But I lack motivation where it comes to physical activity. I walk the dogs. But really, that's about it. 

Colleen is athletic. She loves to exercise. She runs every morning before work, often covering distances of four or five miles. She says she enjoys it. And I am pleased for her. But she comes home each day and tells me proudly how far she ran, and it somehow bothers me. I listen, of course, and try to support her. It’s what she needs. Jogging makes her feel good, and it reduces her stress. But I can’t help noting a certain resentment that stirs inside me. She’s getting stronger and I’m getting weaker. 

I must find a way to exercise my muscles. It would be good for me. It would help relieve my stress. And it would show Colleen that I’m trying. She’d like to see that I’m doing all I can to stay healthy, even in the face of this creeping terror that resides in my chest. Colleen wants me to exercise. Should I join a gym? Rent a treadmill? A stationary bike? I’m to see the doctor next month. I have a strong feeling he’ll prescribe exercise. I know I should. But I don’t want to. I’ll have to find a way to overcome that. Exercise and fitness are a big part of the transplant programme, both pre and post. The hardest part is overcoming inertia. 

I've got to get started somehow. Somewhere. Someday.