As frequent readers of this blog may recall, I have been working through numerous issues regarding exercise, such as chronic pain, past negative experiences, and more. But at this point one of my biggest blockers is just plain ol' motivation.
Especially on days when I wake up and find my body having one of its cranky days, when everything just feels all stiff and achey for no good reason except perhaps the weather or the phase of the moon or some other damn thing, the last thing I want to be doing is exercising. In fact, when such days come on strong it's hard to feel enthusiastic about any activity except turning over and going back to sleep--or at most creeping to the bath for a long, hopefully restorative soak.
I have come to accept--at least on an intellectual level--that exercising through such morning stiffness really does help. But tell that to my bod, my achey breaky bod (okay, you can all stop groaning now, you knew I was going to do that sooner or later). And the Marine bootcamp method of just dragging my own ass along kicking and screaming into exercising only does nasty things to my attitude. So, strong believer in positive reinforcement that I am, I have set my mind to thinking of some creative workarounds.
I arose yesterday to find my bod in an especially cranky state, and spent half the day just sitting with that, thinking "y'know, this really would feel better if I got up and moved about," but not finding the motivation to pull the trigger. And then it hit me: it was Wednesday afternoon, and one of the more entertaining farmer's markets in town happens on Wednesday afternoons--how about taking a walk over there? And suddenly, even though my body was no less cranky, I felt an energy and eagerness to get out and move which trumped all the crankiness. See? You really do catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
So I climbed in the car and drove out to the Ocean Beach Farmer's Market. OB, San Diego's hippie/beach-bum neighborhood, has long been one of my favorite places to hang out, and its main retail/hangout district along Newport Ave is made for walking, just four blocks long and crammed with fascinating shops selling everything from antiques to 1960s-style headshop fare. And on Wednesdays one central block, plus adjacent parking lots, is lined with booths selling produce, handicrafts, and other assorted stuff. Thanks to my handy-dandy disabled placard and early arrival I was able to snag a parking spot just half a block from the market site. I donned my trusty sunhat and shades, got on my feet, and set out.
Now I totally adore open-air markets--flea markets, farmer's markets, antique and art fairs, you name it. I don't even necessarily buy much of anything--I just like to poke about, and browse, and enjoy all the sights and sounds and characters. Sometimes I even get ideas for handicrafts and cooking projects of my own from checking out the vendors' wares. But especially now that I'm on this health regimen, farmers markets with their lovely locally-grown produce have a whole new appeal for me. Yesterday the produce vendors were especially rich in big beautiful strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocados. There was one vendor who also had a tempting array of squash blossoms and baby squashes. I was loathe to weigh myself down with lots of purchases, both for my body's sake and that of my recently-filled fridge. But I did make an exception for some tiny but juicy blood oranges at a terrific price.
Mind you, I was not charging around the market at aerobic-level speeds. But I was slowly but surely getting around, which was a definite improvement upon sitting on my ass like I had been doing that morning. By the time my joints let me know it really was time to quit, I had made the equivalent of two complete circuits around the market; my little cheapo pedometer said I had covered just a hair under half a mile. Half a mile is pretty damn major in my exercise book at this point.
Now obviously, excursions like this are a whole lot easier to work into one's life when, like me, one is a telecommuting freelancer who has the flexibility to rearrange one's work hours as one sees fit. And not everybody has a handy farmer's market to slink off to. But I still think my general strategy of reframing of exercise into an attractive outing instead of an uninspiring chore has a lot to recommend it, for anyone else whose first reaction to the urge to exercise is to lay down and wait until the urge passes.
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