The Decompression of a Boomer

I should be writing about my exercising since that is what I am supposed to be doing every day for my back. It’s not much, just about a fifteen-minute routine of press-ups, pelvic curls, crunches, Russian twists, leg lifts, wall squats, a veritable smorgasbord. Stretches of all sorts are good too, deep fried and then sprinkled with powdered sugar.

Not to forget to mention the “I-HATE-you” exercise where you start out face down, stomach on the ball, feet pressed against a wall. On “I” you lift your chest and head upward until your torso feels like it might snap off at your waist, that’s the cue to yell “HATE,” and then back down again on ‘you.’ Repeat “I HATE you” twenty times to your therapist or anyone within earshot (except not at your husband when it’s before dinner and he’s trying to watch ‘Jeopardy’ or the news, I found out) until you feel really great that you survived the whole thing without snapping in half.

Okay so I am not an exercise buff. Although I have exercised enough to graduate from physical therapy, on account of I showed up for 14 therapy sessions over a period of about eight weeks. I promised my physical therapist upon my relapse, er … release, that I would do my exercises regularly. Luckily she doesn’t live with me, albeit she is haunting me in my sleep.

I do actually exercise, especially if my back or butt is killing me or I feel too stiff to get out of my chair, or if I just happen to be on my back on the carpet in front of the flat-screen T.V. and I think to do some pelvic lifts while I’m there.

I day dream a lot about exercising, like when I’m driving in my car toward the mall and I think, “Oh, when I get home after shopping and errands, if it’s not too late, I will exercise before I get started making dinner.” My ‘virtual’ exercise plan is quite a good one, way imaginative and ambitious, I swear I can nearly stretch my head and extremities up to the ceiling.

If I could only figure out how to make myself exercise in my sleep dreams I’d wake up feeling athletic and a habitual exerciser, I’m pretty sure, and I would, as a matter of extension, just keep on exercising throughout my day. Not a bad plan! I mean …uh… too bad for this plan, since my subconscious mind seems hellbent to conjure up mental garbage in my sleep, utterly worthless in regards to enhancing my conscious life. Darn it! Because I think exercising in my sleep could be a real boon.

And if I had been in sports as a kid, that might have been a help too. Well, I probably would have hated it then, but maybe it would be better for me now. I did go out for cheerleader and got on the squad for, um, a year in High School. I bragged about that to my husband trying to impress him with my athleticism in response to his telling me he did ‘track.’ He informed me quite matter-of-factly that cheerleading is not a ‘sport.’ Well, I gleefully corrected him on that a few weeks ago with the appearance of this news article in the press: … about cheerleading being declared a contact sport in Wisconsin, to which he responded, “Not you – forty years ago.” Okay so I admit, back then we did jumps and cartwheels and a lot of yelling and stuff – I guess cheerleading has evolved some in four decades. One thing I can say, though, I’m still a pretty good yeller, having maintained this skill throughout my 28 years as a wife and mother (just kidding).

And I’m still pretty much a cream puff pom pom exerciser. But, yeah, I’m gonna exercise, at least, that’s my plan.

Tags: Exercise

This entry was posted on March 16, 2009 at 2:33 am and is filed under Exercise, My back. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.