Thursday, April 21, 2011

Like crack, only good for you, and more annoying

I think I’m getting addicted to exercise. Like, not in a good way. I know there are worse addictions, like heroin or whatever, but I’m not sure there’s any more annoying addiction than exercise. I mean, don’t you a little bit want to round house kick me in the face right now just for saying it? I kind of want to round house kick myself in the face too.

And yet.

It started small. I would feel my energy drop and my mood start to get blue after a few days, and I would head to a dance class and I would feel better. Invigorated. Serotonin-boosted. Virtuous. (because like it or not—and I don’t like it—being fit has become weirdly tangled with morality in this country, and the concept of sloth as sin is alive and well). After exercising, my face gets flushed. It looks bad for about 10 minutes because of my annoying rosacea, but it settles into a good healthy flush, like how I look after… *cough*… you know. I have pretty good sweat hair too. It gets kind of wavy and wild like, well, yeah. You know. And I feel good. Alive, sexy, happy, energetic. I feel high.

How bloody annoying.

It’s gotten to the point now where every other day isn’t cutting it. I’m at four evenings/week, Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. By Sunday afternoon, I have often reverted to some kind of bitchy, sleepy, listless version of myself, because I need my fix. Slap slap slap. Get those Latin rhythms in my veins and that movement in my hips. Get that heart rate up and that sweat dripping down the back of my neck. Oh yeah, that’s what I need.

My usual Tuesday night class was canceled for Spring Break this week, so I spent yesterday in cold turkey withdrawal, no sweat since Sunday. And let’s just say it was not my best parenting day. I was sleepy, and crabby, and just wanted to be horizontal on the reclining lounge chair outside rather than getting up and enjoying the stunningly gorgeous day with my kids. Every time they asked me to push them on the swing, I cursed under my breath as I begrudgingly hauled my sorry ass off the chair to do it. I started doing PMS math when I realized… it was exercise withdrawal. Holy crap. I’m that person. Holy f-ing crap.

So last night I went back to Pilates and “Flirty Girl Fitness” (aerobics with some extra thrusting) and got my fix, and maybe I’ll take a random local belly dance class tonight, even though I suspect I will have far more training and experience than the teacher, because my usual Thursday class is also canceled this week. And I’m thinking of looking for a Saturday morning class. Because I need the sweat. I need that tired sore tingle in my muscles. I need that flush in my cheeks.

You know what else would give me a flush in my cheeks? A good round house kick to the face. Go ahead. I know I deserve it.

1 comment:

  1. It's true. Sadly it's not one of my addictions, as much as I try - it's one of those things - you know it makes you feel awesome and yet sometimes (most times for me) it is so easy to talk myself out if it. I think b/c like you my exercise of choice is dance class which usually involves planning - schedules and sitters. I would kick you, but would probably hurt myself. see you at Zumba.