The unfit traveler

One thing my trip to San Francisco demonstrated to me is how fearfully out of shape I've become. I haven't exercised in months, because I finally reached the point where I just couldn't force myself to do this thing I had always hated doing. (Rather amusingly, my sister was reading on the trip a book on staying fit and feeling good for women "of a certain age," that included a section headed "All the best people hate to exercise.") I knew I would feel better -- though I always feel terrible immediately upon finishing an exercise session -- knew my increased stiffness was due to no exercise, knew it was affecting my stamina, which isn't good at the best of times.

But it took all that hiking up steep hills to convince me that I needed to bite the bit and start exercising again. It wasn't just the Streets of San Francisco, though there I was usually bringing up a limp fourth (Ellen, who exercises regularly, and seems to be made of energy, was always way out in front and never even seemed winded). But there were other demonstrations.

We got in on Wednesday morning, and after lunch Fae suggested we go to nearby "Windy Hill" (which turned out to be appropriately named) from which you can see both the sea and the bay. I later learned, thanks to signs along the trail, that this is part of the Windy Hill Open Space Preserve of San Mateo County. The climb up to the top was neither that long nor that steep, but Fae and I vied for who would get there last. Near the top, in the first "open space" (most of the way up we had scrub brush on one side, and a hillside covered with scrub brush on the other), I saw a bench, and practically cried Eureka. But we weren't quite to the top. Ellen and Jim were already there, taking pictures of the bay. And if you looked off to the west, there was a slim line of the Pacific Ocean, gleaming in the sun. All very nice, if a bit nippy, but I'd been given my first taste of my out-of-shapeness.

Then, Fae's idea for Thanksgiving afternoon, when we were waiting for the turkey to roast, was to walk "up the street" to where one of their neighbors ran a miniature train around his back yard every holiday. Fae knows I love trains, and thought I'd enjoy this. Which I did -- it was an adorable little train, complete with whistle which the "engineer" blew as we went around curves -- but the walk up and up and up the winding, winding, winding street to the neighbor's house had me ultimately collapsing on a guard rail to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. I felt like a little old lady. Since their retire-ment Fae and Jim have been doing a lot of walking, and it has obviously paid off.

So, Melody, it's time to get off the bed where you're taking that nap, or get off that computer where you're doing that admittedly fascinating genealogical research, or get off that couch where you're watching the latest episode of Bones or Fringe or Lie to Me, and EXERCISE.

Exercise

We are talking here about something I – and a heckuva lot of other people – really hate to do. We hear again and again that regular exercise is one of the most important keys to good health and long life. It can reduce depression, we are told. And it can make us look better – toned muscles, reduced weight, etc., etc.

Yes, but. Exercising is boring, makes one uncomfortable (all that huffing and puffing, those aching muscles, joints, bones, all that sweating); and it demands energy. Being (apparently) naturally lazy, I resist doing anything that demands energy, but especially activities that are boring and make me uncomfortable.

There are some physical activities that (naturally, being physical activities) demand energy, but which I do not find boring, e.g., dancing, riding a bicycle, horseback riding. But one really can't do these things on as frequent and regular a basis as, we are told, one should exercise. I know there are people who would dispute this, like my friend Joey, who regularly rode his bicycle to and from work through the streets of Toledo; but there's no way Nervous Nellie here could ride a bicycle along the busy corridor between where she lives and where she works. Besides which there's noplace to take a post-commute shower at the library.

My doctor urged me over a year ago to get hold of an exercise bicycle, and use it. A regular bicycle wasn't really a good solution, he said, because here in Maine I wouldn't be able to use it for a good part of the year. Good point. But exercise bicycles simply did not fit into the stringent budgetary limits of this Starving Librarian. So I just continued to erratically follow my basic exercise regimen, which has been the case for many years. Diligent for a week, maybe two, then miss a day, two, three, and right off the exercise wagon you fall. And have to start all over again in a week or so, trying to build your stamina back up. Hating every second of it.

Then, just the other day, the Legionnaire's post across the street from the library was holding a yard sale, and I saw that they had this very basic exercise bicycle for all of one dollar. I figured I could hardly go wrong: even if the thing didn't work at all, I would be out only a dollar. So two of the gentlemen wrestled it into my back seat; I wrestled it out when I got home and lugged it down the slope to my back yard and around to that basement door I just recently had a dead bolt put on, past the possibly poison sumac plants. And I've actually used it several times now. It's something I can do when I just can't make myself do those loathed exercises.

I envy those amazing individuals who like to exercise. How fortunate to actually enjoy something that is good for you.