Confessions of a lapsed exerciser

Deadly Sushi

Formerly The Giant Mojito
Twenty-five years ago, my ass was round and high, like the cotton they sing about in Porgy and Bess. I worked out back then, vigorously. I turned down invitations to picnic in Central Park, missed seeing Kurosawa films at art houses and denied myself dates with cute drummers all because I would never skip the gym. It was my opinion that anyone who did not exercise for at least two hours a day was a jerk. Then again, I was 19. What did I know?


I don't work out anymore. At all. It's quite possible that if the exerciser I was back then met the slacker I am now, I would kick my own ass. But my daughter is only at school until 2:45 p.m. during the week, which means I have 6 hours and 15 minutes each day to fill the cupboards with groceries, cook, clean, shower, do laundry, tidy up, earn a living and exercise. It turns out that I'm the jerk who can't get it all done.

The first thing I gave up was exercise, but I was still overwhelmed and behind schedule. I needed more time, so I carefully examined my life: Obviously, we could not forgo food or clean underwear; my bathing routine was down to the bare minimum as it was; and I did the least amount of housework possible. I looked at my days from every possible angle. I agonized. And then, suddenly, it was clear — the only thing to cut back on was being nice to my husband. We have a good relationship, so I didn't keep my decision from him. I said, "Honey, I have so many things on my list. I have to stop being nice to you. It simply takes too much time and effort right now."

Continued: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22347700/
 
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