The Ultimate Exercise Equipment

Due to the very poor grades I received in my overall health, I have been endeavoring to exercise more. Here’s the problem: I hate exercising. I hate sweating. I hate being hot. I hate doing things I’m uncoordinated at, like walking. Sex also comes to mind here, but that’s a different blog.

Friday, I went to my friend Jackie’s house, who also hates sweating, being hot, and doing things that make her look uncoordinated. She is a good friend though, and doesn’t want me to croak quite yet, so we went for a brisk walk. 4000 steps for our little jaunt.

Yes, yes, I’ve got one of those dorky pedometers. Blue.

Saturday, we went to a Pirate Festival at the Rotary Park. This has lots of opportunities for walking. I would tell you how many steps I took, except about halfway through the park I realized my handy-dandy pedometer had fallen off. Probably during the petting zoo area or the pony ride location. (Before anyone points out I’m too big for pony rides, let me assure you I had a 3-year-old in tow who was interested in petting the ponies—though not riding them.) I think the black pony ate my step-counter.

After about 3 hours of wandering around the park, the 3-year-old misbehaved horribly and we had to leave. (So much for pirate hunting.) Once home, I dragged Jackie to a JoAnn’s, where I got the rest of my materials for my Halloween costume; and then we went to a Barnes & Noble, for no other reason than to sit in the squishy chairs and read books. Then Erica, Jackie’s little sister called.

She was going to take her dogs to the dog park. Did we want to go? Now let me just say she has the coolest dogs ever. Nakira and Monty are these cute, hilarious mutts. Nakira is the ham, and she’s always so excited to see you…and she smiles all the time. Monty is lower-keyed, but a lover. If you lay down, he’ll crawl up beside you, worm his way into your arms, and sigh in contentment as his head is resting on your chest. (Monty is proof males are the same no matter what species they are.) I love them both, so I’m game to the park.

We go. Erica lets the dogs run in their area as Jackie and I walk on the trails for our evening walk. (I wanted to make sure I got plenty of walking in—since that horse ate my walking device! How was I to know when I could quit walking? Blast.) So we probably walk a mile roundtrip. Erica wants to now walk the dogs on the trail. Okay. So I get Monty, because he’s lower-keyed, right? Hahahahahaha. I trotted my ass off to keep up with this dog!

I don’t jog, folks. If you ever see me running, it’s not “to” something because frankly “it” can wait until I can saunter to it or I just don’t need it. If I’m running, it’s from something, like snakes. A serial killer. One of my really bad dates. Monty, though, doesn’t know how to saunter, and unless I wanted to be dragged down the gravel road on my belly, I adapted immediately.

So I jogged. Panted. Gasped for air as I walked at an uber-fast clip when I could no longer jog. By the time we left, I was certain all-told, I must have walked/trotted at least 3 miles. Yes, of course, I’m counting the Jackie-Fran sauntering mile—but two miles of jog/trotting is quite a bit, thank you much.

I’ve decided the ultimate exercise device is not a pedometer but a dog. Not one of those sissy dogs though—a 40 pound mutt who doesn’t know what a saunter is and is very interested in trotting up and down roads. If he likes to also curl up with you as you watch TV and sigh against your chest, that’s just a bonus.

So what’s your secret exercise equipment? Your toddler? Your dog? Your husband?