My personal trainer moved away the beginning of May, and it was the beginning of my personal downslide into slugdom. (No, that’s not a word; I made it up.)
I did look up “slug” in the dictionary. In the first place, it is a mollusk without a shell but with a serious ability to pester your plants. In the second place, it is a slow, lazy person. I don’t believe any of my family or friends would characterize me as slow and lazy; so maybe “slug” isn’t the right term. But that’s what I feel like.
I’ve almost given up swimming; don’t go to Yoga; and don’t do weights. Friends and I mall walk two to three times a week, but that isn’t really enough to offset a thickening middle and creaky limbs. Nor does it make me happy when I step on the scale.
How to motivate myself is the real problem. My trainer Dylan made working out such fun that I actually looked forward to going to the gym. For someone who went all the way through graduate school without attending a gym class, that’s remarkable.
At first when Dylan moved, I told myself he’d taught me so much that I’d be foolish not to continue working out. I didn’t need him, since I’d learned much in the two years we’d been together. I had the tools.
But I didn’t factor in motivation. And, frankly, I don’t seem to have any. Dylan, if you read this, please get in touch. Otherwise I may forevermore be a slug. Do you want that on your conscience?
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