It's long been documented that I am probably the most fickle exerciser that ever roamed the planet.
I get a whiff of it and I'm into it, and then something happens (i.e. a chair lands on my foot and breaks my toe) and I am off it.
It's simple really. I dream of being an athlete. And yet the stark reality is this. I am not.
Every year before New Year's happens - I make pre-New Year's resolutions. Because New Year's resolutions (in my mind) are meant to be broken. Whereas a commitment beforehand is based on more mettle.
So my pre-New Year's resolution is this: to stop being fanatical about exercise, and find a gentle rhythm where I can feel good and happy, and look after my body. A place where I am not obsessed, but where it's just part of my everyday.
I once read Sarah Wilson write that exercise shouldn't be about slotting it in three times a week for 40 minutes, but a better investment would be every day for 20 minutes. It somehow makes it feel more manageable. Increments is what I can deal with.
So today I'm sharing six tips with you to get yourself out the door and moving more: 1. Get your kit ready: Before bed, I lay out my exercise gear. That way it's pretty simple. Hit the alarm. Jump up. Get my gear on. A spray of deodorant and boom - I am out the door in under 10 minutes. And by the way - set your alarm and get up earlier. You CAN make time for exercise. And if you stick to my tips you will miss it if you don't do it. The University of North Texas research has shown that people who exercise in the morning are more likely to stick with their workout than those who exercise later in the day. 2. Organise your tunes: I have a good playlist that I love for my walks/runs/cartwheels around the neighbourhood. But you have to mix things up. You gotta keep things fresh. Rihanna is a no-brainer, those beats, yep, they get me moving, but find out what songs your friends love to work out to, and stick them on your iPod. 3. Commit for 21 days: A long, long time ago I read about how to create a habit. A good habit. And it takes 21 days of solid commitment before that habit is made. Showing up is half the battle - once you're there, you're in! 4. Take a friend: If you have a friend to pump iron with, you'll be more likely to show up. And have fun. And be less intimidated if you're joining a gym. Buddy up and tone up. Together. 5. Write it down: I know. This might sound crazy, but I tried this and felt like I really accomplished something. It might make you think of me as a five year old girl, but putting a cross on my calendar every time I exercised made me keep going. 6. Perhaps the most important: Make it fun. If it's not fun, my brain starts to think of all the other awesome things I could do. Like Sleep. If you hate running, don't run. If you don't dig the gym, don't join up to the gym. Find something that you love doing, and if it starts to get laborious - switch it up.
This year it's high on my agenda. Hold me accountable.
Fresh days bring so much with them. They're good as a clean piece of paper. Full of promise, they can unfurl in so many ways. I've managed to pull myself out of bed early to go walks a couple of times this week - I'm up to 75% of my four walk target. I could go into bonus time a la Luigi and Mario. On my walks I've been busy observing. With nothing but my mind to occupy me (oh and that magpie that kept trying to swoop me - ice cream bucket anyone?), my eye has been seeking out small beauties. Simple beauties. They're all around when you're attentive. It's the season when spiders decorate the trees with their weaving. And when Mother Nature leaves a fine mist to highlight them strung up in the branches. They're beautiful artworks, and if you're very careful, you can find them hidden in odd places. Or how about an ocean walk when there's no one around. The rain has scared everyone off. It's just you, the sand and the water lapping. The sunrise creeping up, quietly, but the surety is comforting. It's my reminder that there are bigger things in life.
Guys. It's been a while. I have been totally slack on the exercise front (I know, we have definitely been here before. A number of times. Here we go again.) and I am back. And I am going to stay on that horse. Over the last few months I've noticed the love handles making a cameo appearance. Cameo? Because they are not going to stay around because I actually feel totally disgusted at myself. I don't feel good in my skin and I am going to do something about it. Stress is the biggest contributor to my weight. I make concessions and think: "Oh yes, I've been working hard, I totally deserve that chocolate" So I can have a heart attack?! NO thanks! I went for a big walk with our family this afternoon, and I've already got my gear ready to get up early tomorrow morning. Boom! It's on like Donkey Kong. When I think about the excuses I come up with to not exercise, well I am too kind on myself. Matt's working in the evenings, which means I can't go to the gym like I was, however it was like a petri dish for excuses for not getting out and moving. No more! Those days I need to race home for pick up are the days I need to pull my sorry ass out of bed an extra hour earlier so I can clock up some steps. Those days I don't have to race home - well I can fit in a half hour at the gym. I read a quote recently that said we should treat our gym/exercises sessions with the same respect we treat an appointment. Turn up, don't make excuses. Because it is that time for you to look after yourself (plus it's my time to turn over conversations, stress etc and get them out of my body). I'm going to do it. I'm going to aim for four exercise sessions a week. Four GOOD exercise, and build up to more. It's really not that hard when you think - half an hour every day, so I am going to kick start - this is it. No more excuses. Bring back energetic, healthy, happy Lexi. Game on with my inner voice who tells me to go back to bed. This time I'm playing to win! And if you need motivation hit me up on Pinterest. Anyone would think I'm a buff gym babe. Sadly, no. But I am going to try and transform myself. Fit before 40. (That fit before 40 thing just sounded catchy, but if it takes me five years to get fit, someone - shake me.)
So I went to Bikram twice last week. And the second time I lay there pondering why I felt I needed to be there, in that sweatbox. I lay down for much of it too - contemplating other things such as a quote I'd read: "The way you handle your sweat is how you handle life." Apparently I wipe it off. And then take a good lie down. The second class was not only a punishment by heat and stretching. Some foul-bottomed soul was unleashing eggy farts upon my area. So imagine this - if you will, hot, sweaty, humid. And the stench of a million years of everyone's sweat marinading in the sisal. And then some arsehole - and I mean that literally, is farting almost at regular intervals. Some fart-breath foul-bottomed yogi had taken it upon themselves to egg it up and eat curried egg sandwiches before class. Are you gagging yet? My goodness, I was. I got to the point I was going to yell out and tell whoever it was that they should go drop their friends off to the pool. I felt like I should suddenly have Tourette's and unleash some wordy beast on their sweat covered hiney. Then I contemplated how unBikram that would be of me. Of how I should be accepting of someone's rank egg bottom trumpets. About how I should be at one with methane. But I couldn't. And I haven't been back because some asswipe stole my yoga libido. Namaste, Farticus, namaste.
Stop the press. I went to Bikram today - for the first time in 12 years. I might as well have never been, or even tell you that I've been before - because 12 years is a long time ago, and the only reason I am telling you, if we're going to be completely frank, is to make you think that once upon a time I may have been a bit flexible. Way back then I was completely hooked on Bikram. But let's fast forward to this morning. Oh man. I've never loved savasana SO MUCH! I've put together seven tips for beginners, to make it less intimidating. And to brainwash you into coming with me. 1. Wear as little clothing as possible. And make it form fitting - and if possible sweat-wicking. Most people wear hot pants, crop tops. I wore cropped tights, and slim-fitting tank top. Do not wear baggy clothes because I am telling you now, those wet clothes don't feel good swinging on your body and will distract you. And don't wear cotton. Take it from me. Baggy, cottony clothes - not your friend at Bikram. 2. Don't be afraid to sit down - or go into savasana (hellooooo savasana). No one else is focussing on your practice. You do your thing, they do theirs. And you do it at your own pace. Take a break if you feel dizzy, or if you just feel like - holy mackerel, I need to escape this hotbed of a room, and if like me, you have the flexibility of TinMan from the Wizard of Oz. 3. Speaking of which - don't leave the room. The first session is about staying in that ridiculously hot room - and reaping the health benefits. Stay there. Lie down. Kneel. Whatever you need to do. But stay in there. I had fantasies of running out and standing under the water filter - and then driving off into the sunset. But I lay down and looked right at this picture instead.
4. Take a big water bottle. And a big towel.And a little towel. You are going to need them. The water - you need for sipping on during the class. The big towel - it's going to go over your yoga mat and stop you from infesting it further with sweat, and things will be a lot less slippery. The little towel - I like to have it to wipe my hands. And my brow. And from my eyes when the sweat stings them. Am I selling this to you? 5. Don't go in thinking the room smells of roses and unicorn farts. There's one thing that doesn't smell good - communal sweat. 6. Stay hydrated. Drink plenty of water the day before - not just an hour before. Drink plenty of water afterwards. And whatever you do, don't go hungover. You'll be in a world of pain already. And hungover? Whoa. Not a good combo. 7. Try to stay up the back. In your first class you don't know whether you're Arthur or Martha. Try and stay up the back. Not only will it allow the hard-core yogis to get on with their practice, but I watch what they do to fine-tune my own. Maybe I will see you there? If I do, don't talk. No one talks in the studio. Except the teacher.
I know I've talked about it before, and dabbled in it for a while, but I got sick around eight weeks ago and stopped doing C25K. I was pretty annoyed at myself because I was into week four which is a fair investment on my behalf. So I got sick. Got really annoyed at myself for being sick. Started pinning exercise and motivation tips - but meanwhile I was stuck in bed. Bored out of my brains and frustrated. I waited 'til I got better - and then I rebooted my C25K. I'm now into week six. It's been hard, and today was particularly hard. I struggled, I kept going, I talked myself in to keep going. I beat myself up, and then I talked myself off the ledge and told myself it was ok to be a little slower some days. I'm immensely tired, and it makes sense that that translates into my exercise. I'm not a natural born runner. I'm inherently pretty uncoordinated. Over the last six weeks I've had one part of me telling the other part of me - "This is too hard," "You've had a big day! You can stop now!" and "Why don't you go home instead, you can't do this." And then the other part of me saying: "Just do it, you're doing it, keep going." "You are doing AWESOME, you can do it - you're already halfway through." And so I break my runs into increments to make it feel more achievable. While those two voices duke it out in my head, my legs keep running. Sometimes it's hard. Other times I hit my stride. And each time when I finish my run - I am totally stoked that I did it. Sometimes I get panicky and think: I must stop this now. And then I sort out my breathing again, and get back into my rhythm and I keep going. I may not be the most talented runner. Or the fastest. Or the best. But I am moving. I am pushing myself. Six weeks ago I couldn't do this. Six weeks ago I didn't have this stress relief. That relief of endorphins can conquer almost any bitch-ass email that comes my way. I feel completely exhausted some days. And completely pumped other days. My body is a wonderland. But not in a Mayer way. It's done incredible things, and it's going to do even more incredible things. But this is not a go me post. This is a post to say - if I can do this, and if you've thought about exercising more, you can do it. Just start somewhere and you'll end up somewhere else feeling better for it. I'm not a natural born runner. I'm slow, my gait falters. But I just keep pushing.
So ages ago I started C25K. I got to the middle of week two (I think), and then stopped. This was about the same time I fell off the apple cart. Today I rebooted, got out there and knocked off day one of week one. The first leg I wanted to cry and sit in the gutter. It was poorly timed on my behalf, as the first run started on a massive incline, setting the tone for the rest of the workout. Given so many people were running the City to Surf, I thought I should take to the streets and sneak in some exercise for myself. By the time I got home I was completely KOed. And now on the flipside I feel pretty good - not only physically, but mentally retuned and ready for the week ahead. And ready for day two and day three of C25K (the first day is the worst day, well that's my mantra anyway). I think I stopped exercising after holidays because work was busy, and life was busy, and I stopped prioritising myself and my time. Please don't get the world's smallest violin out, but when you're a mum, everyone else is above you in the food chain. It's called Burnt Chop Syndrome for a reason. I am back in the saddle friends!
I am so ashamed people. You can beat me up and bounce me off the back of a blimp. I've still not gotten back on the applecart to exercise. And I have an unworn, brand-new-with-tags top to exercise in to prove it. Not even the lure of new exercise gear is enough to lure me. Someone paint that thing with the pheromones of neatly carved abs, tight glutes and honed arms - and there might be some interest. But nope. I'm still lolling about in bed in the morning. Far beyond when the sun wakes up, I'm still fighting to stay under the covers. It's warm under there. The doona is my friend, and sleep my lover. If it wasn't for work and my children requiring breakfast, lunches to be packed and help to get them off to school - well I'd be totally committed to a few jolly good in bed, long, bigger than King Kong sleep ins. They feel so good. And so foreign. Somebody: say something. Make me do it. Maybe that could be a new Nike slogan. Make me do it.
While we were on holidays, exercise was a bit sporadic. Well. I say that. But we did, every single day, go for big walks. We barely used the car the entire time. But I felt so bloaty and pretty gross, so in the evenings (a handful of times) I went for a longer, faster amble by myself. It was nothing like what I usually do. But at least I was moving. Once we got back, Matt, the Doctor and I - we three all got sick. It's been a real hoot. I've had the snottiest head this side of Cincinatti. I have, alas, fallen off the wagon. Someone. Lift me up onto the wagon, and give me a push. Hit me up with your inspiration on how I can reignite my exercise flame. Please. Someone. Anyone. I'm Bloaty McBloaterson. HELP ME!
This is supposed to be the Winter of content. This year I made it a priority to invest in some warmer clothes, which in turn was meant to not only make me feel warmer, but make me happier. Being so chilly makes me grumpy. And if you know me when I am cold, then you have experienced grumpy. True unbridled grumpiness. Part of the investment in warmer clothes was to also trick myself into thinking that rising in the dark was ok! I was going to be warm! It would be fun! Oh - how naive I was! Getting up at 5:30am in the thick of Winter is no mean feat. Getting up at 5:30am in the thick of Winter to EXERCISE is no mean feat. Getting up to exercise at 5:30am in the thick of Winter to exercise when it's raining. AYE CARUMBA! Anyone who does this should automatically receive some kind of award. And it should be served warm.
However, I have managed to do it a few times. High five myself. I'm still moving more than I was a year ago, and I've been dreaming about working more movement into my days, I've just got to make it happen.
Pretty soon we're going on a small family holiday. I am beside myself with excitement. And as nerdy as it may be, I've already decided that I must exercise every day we're away. Even if it's just a leisurely walk. I want to keep my momentum rolling ready for my summer reveal (JUST JOKES PEOPLE - NO BIKINI SHOTS COMING YOUR WAY). Last week I had an epiphany that having time for myself - where it was not in dark hours, where I could sit in a cafe for an hour with avocado on toast, a coffee and a magazine did majorly restorative things to my head. I never get to do that. It was good. I'm going to schedule more time to do this. I got to read an article in one sitting. I know I'm crazy, but that was pure luxury.
If Ryan isn't motivation enough for me, I don't know what is. This week I started C25K. I know, I know. Another day another crazy exercise 'thing'. But I'm not one for fads. After the first day I came home totally beet-faced and felt completely shagged. I was so tired I didn't think I'd get to work. But the next session was easier. And the third session of week one was easier again. Thank goodness for that. So this week I start week two of C25K. I'm still doing my other training three days a week (except for last week, I was pooped). So this week is going to be interesting. Six days of exercise. Let's see how that pans out. But I needed to up the ante and do something a bit different to shake things up in this body of mine. Move more, get rid of some of those excess layers on my stomach. I'm going to be bikini ready before the magazines can tell me it's time to start thinking about being bikini ready. Take that bikinis! And so continues my heady relationship with exercise. I'm still hooked, six months in, we're totally enamoured with one another.
So I came out and confessed: I've been exercising. And ever since then, exercise gear is my secret ogling business. My sister has switched me on to the delights of Lululemon. Swoon! As we're coming into Winter, and when I get up, it's dark. Not just medium dark, it's pitch dark. Which, unfortunately for me, has resulted in me wearing my pants inside out. Stay classy Lexi! But as well as dark, it's getting a little chilly in the morning, and sometimes it's raining. I know. Poor me! Lo and behold THIS!
Oh yes, very nice. And what?! WHAT?!!!!
BEHOLD! It has a place for my ponytail. It must be love. Love. Love.
And pockets. With a zip. Do you know how I feel about pockets? I love pockets! I want pockets on everything. All of that - and the print reminds me of being in biology at high school, and looking through microscopes at gems. I won't tell you about how my friend Matt put a mouldy petri dish in my lunchbox and I completely flipped my lid. No. Let's stay focussed on this wondrous jacket. Lululemon Get up and glow jacket. Get it while it's hot.
Since shaking things up for myself by consciously cutting back on alcohol (I'm barely clocking two drinks per week), I've amped up my exercise and am feeling so much happier and healthier for it. It's a no-brainer, really. I've probably touched on my new-found habit, but left it at that. I'm not very excellent at sporting endeavours, but I am doing it! My sister and I joined a group training thingie (that makes it sound less serious, less hardcore). I get up three mornings a week at 5:30am to make it for an hour of power. It's getting darker in the morning and harder to shake off the covers, but the pay off is huge. Endorphins and that sweet post-exercise muscle twinge to remind you that YES YOU GOT UP AND EXERCISED. As well I've added a gym session here and there when I want to, and when I can fit it in, and interval training with the Doctor (he LOVES it, I'm not amazing at it, but I'm moving people!), and Sunday sessions with the whole family at the park. This weekend it was so good to be on the grass, the four of us, in the sunshine, doing something physical. I've come to the conclusion that it is important to wear exercise gear that makes you feel good. Well it works for me. I find more motivation to get up (I know, so superficial) because I bought new sneakers that don't make me look like Jerry Seinfeld. I'm not talking about spending loads of money, but psychologically, I think having something a little 'nice' to exercise in is a sound investment. Now I am starting to see this exercise thing as a life-long commitment, rather than just a fad I am going through. I've been rising at 5:30am for three months - no one would ever think I would do that! I wish I'd come to it sooner, but I see that it's so important to my overall well-being that I am going to continue to invest in it. Let's face it, I'm a lot less cranky when I exercise, and everyone can benefit from that. I'm excited by this new chapter, and madly working on my Kelly Rowland biceps. Are you exercising? What do you do?
Are you busy getting your Christmas on? I've been doing bits and pieces of Christmas shopping, and yet the house is a complete and utter sha-mozzle. You might think it's got a light dusting of mess, but nope, we've been well-committed to fully sullying the house with as much stuff as possible. Next week it's going to be better. And yet, how, because it's going to get busier. How do you handle this screech into the Christmas season? Me? My sister, Sarah, and I have joined a morning group personal training thingie. We've been twice already - and this morning will be our third time in the week. My stomach muscles are saying BOO - but my head is saying YAY! I've cut right down on sugar - I haven't touched a drop of alcohol - and before anyone starts speculating - nope. I am not pregnant. I'm just looking after myself like I haven't for a long time. It feels (achy breaky) good. And can you believe that in a space of three weeks I've turned myself into a morning person? My cleanse with Nat was the catalyst, and from there I've felt like I can keep rolling. By Christmas - if all goes to plan - I'll be ready for a bikini (wax). Are you into exercise? What's making your spirits bright? (image via Minted)
I've been feeling so sluggish and pretty disgusting. Physically I feel bloated and tired, and mentally, I'm not coping with the whole work/life/stress balance. As a result, last week I drank almost a whole bottle of wine two nights in a row. It's not something I am proud of, and afterwards I had a talk with myself and decided it was time to do something. Being a boozehound is not the solution for stress. As well, my weight has been ever so quietly sneaking up behind me. On my bottom. Yep. Baby got back. And my moods? OH EM GEE! I am totes Moody Judy. So what PMM? So what do we care? I know. I can hear you through the computer screen (and I can see dead people). But quit being cynical. I'm taking the bull by the horns. A while ago I did this great cleanse with health and wellness guru, Nat Kringoudis. I was so intimidated by the thought of it, but threw myself in, and mid and post cleanse felt incredibly good. Plus it kick started me to get back in to looking after myself better. I'm doing it again peeps! Starting tomorrow, I am a-cleansing! And if you're not up for a pre-Christmas cleanse (and why not?!), Nat is running another after Christmas - so you can wash that Christmas funk right outta your hair. And remember earlier this year I was walking like a complete and utter champ? And then the chair fell on my foot just before Easter, and well, I turned into a man and didn't go to the GP? Uh huh. Well I've shirked off my responsibility to my body and not done much moving since then. I know. Lexi. Bad. Bad. Bad. But you'll never guess. I am booked in for my first session at the gym on Tuesday morning. I know right! I am so excited I even got some new sports bras. CRAZY! What are your top tips for fitting exercise and healthy eating into your day? Will you cleanse along with me? And can you squat like the lady up there?
Remember when I was really into walking? How I was getting my exercise on and walking with my elderly friends?
I am loathe to declare - I fell off the bandwagon.
After the chair fell onto my foot - just before Easter, I ebbed away from walking. I think I turned into some sort of man - refused to go the doctor, hellz no. I knew it was useless - if you break a bone in your foot, well there's not a lot you can do. I know this because I have broken two toes before and just had to suffer in my jocks. So I hobbled through it, and have only just regained full bending rights of my big toe. I know. This stuff is what blog posts are made of. Dreamy material Lexi.
But it poses a problem for me. My foot is still not 100% right. And I haven't been walking since.
When I was walking I felt so good. I could feel myself getting fitter, I could feel my body feeling tighter. It was such a great feeling - and it gave me more energy.
I was in this great habit of getting up early - before everyone in the family, I snuck out under the cover of half-darkness, and walked.
Now? I struggle to get out of bed. To drag my sorry ass out of bed and go walking. I fell off the horse - and now I don't know how to get back on.
Hints? Thoughts? Prodding? All are welcome.
And the Fat Boy Slim clip? Yes. Not sure. It made me think of power walkers for some reason..?!
A couple of months ago I did a spin class with one of my friends.
It was at the very height of my exercise binge, and I couldn't wait to hit the pedals and cycle my gluteus maximus into greatness.
We went after work, got changed with the heady scent of sweat and fitness lingering in the changerooms, and headed into the spin room.
The walls were painted in black, with neon lighting - remember that from blue light discos? So the lint on my lycra was illuminated. I ain't no Cadel Evans, sisters.
It was when the instructor came up to me, and commenced adjusting my seat, and then told me that if I couldn't keep up, I should just keep riding, but don't stop, I started to feel the first pangs of fear.
Then the lights were dimmed and the music (bad music) was cranked up and the disco lights came on. Then I got really worried.
Nevertheless, I forged ahead. I was a warrior. I was like Lance Armstrong meets Fame.
We started riding. And riding. And riding. After a long period the instructor told us that the warm up was over. There I was thinking the class must be finished. Enough of the pedals. And enough of the damn bike seat.
The class went on for forty five arduous minutes. The most arduous thing, besides cranking up the dial on the bike, was the bike seat. Cruel beast that it was.
Why does no one ever talk about that discomfort? I felt like John Wayne after a three week horseride. That bike seat bites.
I got home, inspected my property and vowed to never return to spin. And I haven't.
After consulting the interwebz, it turns out us ladies can inflict a lot of damage on our lady parts due to a fraction too much friction from those no-good bike seats.
The next day the gals at work asked how the class went. I told them it was more painful than childbirth. You know when the baby crowns. Yes. That bit.
I'm not going to beat around the bush. No. I'm talking about what lies beneath the bush. That bike seat hurt. And I'm never going back. Ever.
Why didn't anyone ever tell me about the cruel beast that is the bike seat? You and me, we need to talk.
(This article on SMH brought these memories back, bubbling to the surface. That cruel wench of a bike seat.)
Yesterday, as punishment to myself for not walking or running or doing anything for almost two weeks, I totally caned myself. I went on a six km walk/jog - or wag as I affectionately call it.
I branched out of my usual walk/run/jog/feel-like-I-am-dying and did lunges, and manoevred my way around the streets like a crab. Thankfully no one else was about (that I could so), so I don't have to feel so self-conscious about what everyone's thinking about that nutty woman.
And then it started to rain. I was only 2/3 way through my planned run - and it started raining and raining. As further punishment, I made myself stay put - where once I would have scurried home. I may have even pretended I was preparing myself for Tough Mudder.
Over 6 kms later, I went home. Half elated, half dog tired. Then I forced myself to carry some heavy hard rubbish from the back of the house to the foothpath. Four trips in total. I am such a beefcake.
My sneakers were trashed, I was covered in mud - and so I finally made it into the shower.
Sadly I neglected to stretch *forehead slap* and as a result, I am now walking like the Tin Man. I think I've got a severe case of rigor mortis.
And then I dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning, and did it all over again.
Each morning they embark on their own routines. In half-darkness they walk, sometimes together, usually on their own, lapping one another, stretching. Sweating.
There's one guy that is easily identified by his voracious appetite for red t-shirts. Each morning he walks - he's wearing a red t-shirt. Except for this week he's switched to blue. He runs one lap, then sets himself up in the cricket nets. Stretching. Pushing. Pulling. After a while he exits, runs a couple of extra laps, and heads off for the day.
Then there's Peter. Lovely white-haired Peter. He must be at least 80, he walks, we lap one another, we wave hello, we chat on every second lap. He stretches using the fence. He must have lived here forever. He's heading off for four months overseas.
A woman - whose age is difficult to determine turns up. Her ponytail swishes side to side as she runs, effortlessly around and around the oval. She stretches with another woman (who is older and curvier), they chat as they run, under the gum trees, around to the side where the sand flicks up into your sneakers.
Frank is there most mornings. He's a jovial man. We chat politics, war and walking.
Occasionally there are other walkers, but for the most part, it's the usual suspects. Occasionally an elderly woman will brave the slightly sodden grass, walk a few laps, but then she's out of there. Sometimes one of these women will wear a visor, or those sunglasses that flip up and down.
Some mornings see the beginnings of the sunrise. The most spectacular of which featured pale pink and lilac. Streaks of colour like a melted ice-cream. But the next day, markedly less memorable, golden clouds wafting in the sky. Yet it held on to its own beauty, though simplified from the previous.
Most mornings I walk to the dulcet tones of Ira Glass from This American Life. Perfectly timed, and I can get lost for an hour, listening to someone talk about someone else. Sometimes I carve things up and set my iPod to shuffle. Although it's risky with a mix of Playschool mixed with Rihanna mixed with Justine Clarke.
Without even thinking about it, I've become part of the community. Sometimes a silent community, or sometimes a community where a wave or a 'Good Morning' is enough to pass muster. It's comforting to share other people's lives daily. It's a really new sense of perspective, and one that I like.
I know. You read it right. I am completely hooked on exercise. I have rarely ever been so excited to get out there, but there you have it.
I am so hooked on exercise that I've started waking up before my alarm goes off.
I am so hooked on exercise that it's started infiltrating my dreams.
I dreamt my sister had exercise gear on sale (neither of my sisters are sportswear retailers?!) - and that besides flicking through a rack full of size 10s (RATS!) - I found a pair of exercise tights that were made from the most magnificent fish scale looking fabric. Rainbow fish scale looking fabric.They reminded me of the Rainbow Fish book (pictured). Immediately I grabbed them. And started inventing excuses to exercise just so I could wear them. (They were kind of like these, but more purple. And they could breathe).
My usual exercise gear entails a pair of black Target leggings and one of Matt's tees.
But these fish-scale tights. My oh my.
I woke up totally enthralled and told Matt we just had to go looking for them.
Of course we never found them.
But if you spy some fish-scale tights, please do let me know. Apparently they are the magic key to me continuing on my love affair with breaking out a sweat.
