I just got off the treadmill, or, as I prefer to call it, the dreadmill.
It's been cold enough here lately to make an extended time outdoors a bit of a hassle; many layers of clothing, hat, gloves, heavy boots, and (if walking fast in the snowy forest for exercise) trekking poles for balance and traction. If it's recently snowed, snow shoes may also be needed, at least until the trails get packed down. And if it's very cold or windy, longjohns, too.
It's fun to be out in serious cold, but it's certainly not convenient.
On days when I have too much to do to make it worthwhile to don a closet's-worth of midwinter clothing for some basic outdoor exercise, I'll do penance for my mostly sedentary life through indoor exercise.
My current routine involves stretching, neck- and torso twists for flexibility and toe-touches to offset the stiffness that comes from 30 years of working in the same seated position. I do some minor weight work and some push ups to try to offset my total lack of upper-body exercise--- typing isn't noted for building broad shoulders and brawny biceps. And then I do a Torquemada-inspired treadmill program with varying inclines and speeds.
I consider a successful exercise routine as one where I live through to the end. I'd be in much better shape if the palpitations from a fourth cup of espresso constituted a proper cardio workout.
Sigh.
The treadmill keeps careful track of my times as I gallumph through the various programmed running and hill-climbing settings. As I slog up pseudo-hills and down dummy dales, I read the flickering LEDs and take great comfort knowing that if I were only three times faster, I'd be a halfway decent runner.
I've given up on the idea of actually gaining much visible benefit from exercise. The only way I'll ever look truly buff is through Photoshop. I do, however, harbor the faint hope of perhaps slowing the inevitable decline of advancing years; digging in my heels to try to slow galloping decrepitude to a mere canter. Whoa, big fella! Please god, whoa!
OK, OK. I exaggerate a bit. But, to mix metaphors, I guess exercise isn't so much about gaining altitude anymore; it's more about extending the glide.
Well, *trying* to extend the glide, anyway. Perhaps Teterboro is too far away, but maybe we can at least make it to the Hudson...
So today, after one such delightful interlude on the mill of dread, I sit before you sweaty, unshaved, probably somewhat ripe, in my ratty workout clothes.
Be glad you're not here. 8-)
Fred,
ReplyDeleteYou're approaching the treadmill with the attitude that it has to be unpleasant and sweaty to be beneficial.
My wife read about the NEAT concept (Non-exercise activity thermogenesis) pioneered by Dr. James A. Levine at the Mayo Clinic. The idea in a nutshell is that you set the treadmill to a barely-moving speed and actually work while you walk, sometimes for hours at a time. I'm a programmer, and am able to code at 80-90% efficiency while I walk. My "treadmill desk" is just a piece of plywood laid across the handlebars - it's important to have a treadmill with wide, horizontal bars for this to work.
No sweat, no pain, the work gets done. Like you though, I'll still have to Photoshop in the rippling abs.
ahhh Fred. you give us all hope.
ReplyDeletesome people have a 6 pack.
i have a case.
oh well.
Cold in N.H? You chose where to live.
ReplyDeleteNo pity for self inflicted wounds, Mr. Langa.
Besides I think Golden bear is right. And think of the hot toddys you can have.