You CAN teach old dogs new tricks! I’m proof. I’m solidly between 7 and 8 dog years old, which makes me old-ish in both people and dog years. I’ve learned some new things over the past few months, though. I’ve taken on some new hobbies.
Walking is one of them. OK, so I’ve known how to walk since I was about 10 months old (mere days in dog time) – I was an early achiever. I’ve tried to walk the dogs regularly, but between incredibly hot and sticky weather in the summer, and rainy weather in the fall and winter, along with a few canine injuries – I just wasn’t getting in as much walking time as a person of 7 – 8 dog years should. The time I might have been walking was being replaced with time in the recliner.
I needed to do something about that. So – Rod and I pooled our Christmas money and purchased our new evil enemy. It’s a Sole. Treadmill. After Rod did copious internet research and spent several hours checking out the selection at a local fitness store, he brought home the monstrosity. It only took the help of one neighbor to carry it into the basement and assemble it.
Since that day, I have banked about 10 miles per week. I admit that with some pride because I don’t really want to walk on the treadmill. I would rather spend La-Z-Boy time; however, my waistline dictates that I must walk.
I don’t mind exercise. In fact, once I start I rather enjoy it, and I know that I feel better for the 10 mile weeks. I am not, however, a work-out fiend, like those that spend hours per day at a gym. There is no way in this dog-eat-dog world that I would subject myself to a public gym. No one needs to witness me suffering so. Besides, it would be frowned upon to yell out in public the ugliness that I spew upon the Sole.
However, I dutifully make my way to the evil enemy at least four times per week, set the Sole on “interval” and walk (and even jog a little) for 56 minutes. In that time, I cover 2 miles, even though:
- It makes me sweat. It has been said that horses perspire, men sweat and women feel the heat. Well, that’s bull, because on that Sole, I sweat. A lot. I don’t like to sweat. It’s wet and nasty. I rarely sweat when I’m sitting in the recliner, but for when I have a hot flash, which are not voluntary. Why would I want to cause myself to sweat? And after sweating – I need to shower. That means standing up. That means not sitting in the recliner.
- It hurts. My calves ache by minute 32, which leaves 24 minutes of PAIN. One of Eric’s PE commanders in the Army said that “Pain is weakness leaving your body.” If that’s the case, I’m spilling weakness all over the Sole. I’m not a masochist, yet I persist through the torture all the while knowing that the recliner is oh so comfy!
- Though I don’t consider myself to be a control freak, it bothers me that the Sole determines at what pace I will walk and how many hills I will climb. When I want to take a leisurely stroll, the enemy forces me to jog or climb a hill. And it doesn’t listen to me when I yell at it to slow the hell down!!
Yet, I continue. I know it is the right thing to do – like eating an apple for a snack rather than a bag of Ruffles. Sigh. Such is my love/hate relationship. The Sole hates me and beats me up. I hate it right back. The recliner loves me. And I love the recliner.