I hate exercise, hate it, hate it, and hate it. Did you know I really hate to exercise? That being said over the years I have relented and signed up for various aerobics classes. Oddly enough these classes were always all female, not that I had any idea when I signed up. Okay some idea but it was enough incentive to get me to go and work out three times every week for the length of the courses. We all must find the motivation that works best.
I was able to behave myself with my classmates; most of them were as much in need of working out as I was. All I had to do was not step on anyone and try not to trip over my two left feet and fall down. Unfortunately the instructors were always in way better condition than I could aspire to, very fit and way out of my league, and I did tend to aspire to them. Something about women in excellent physical condition getting all sweaty got to me.
I went to this one class regularly for a couple of years and I did ask the instructor what she did for fun. She told me she liked to take bicycle rides, very long bicycle rides, 50 plus mile trips by bicycle. Well I did not have a death wish so I did not try to get along. I still wonder maybe I should have brought her an apple.
In hindsight I was under the impression that chasing these women was a pointless endeavor. Like the chihuahua chasing a Corvette, just what would the poor dog do if he caught it. Recently a photograph resurfaced. It was taken with one of those Polaroid cameras and though dating is difficult I can state with reasonable confidence it is definitely from the late 20th century. In it there is a fellow with a California tan in my kitchen and you can see the muscles in his abdomen. I suppose that the right motivation and all those sweaty hours of crunches paid off after all. I don’t think those muscles have been visible for some time.