Let me just say that I HATE exercise, in pretty much any shape or form. Occasionally before my accident I felt a rush of pride at how capable my body was when doing step aerobics -- heart pounding, sweat pouring off, muscles working hard -- but enjoyment was never any part of the experience. I do exercise -- often and hard. But only because I don't have any interest in a heart attack, a stroke, or use of a cane thirty years down the road.
The only exercise I find remote pleasure in is riding my bike (my outdoors bike, not the deadly dull stationary bike I torture myself with thrice weekly). So naturally, biking scares the *&%$ out of me since last summer. I'm pretty proud of myself that I actually have the courage to get back on a bike at all, but I find it terrifying. That's not strictly true -- once I'm on the bike and riding it, I don't actually feel scared -- unless an animal runs out in front of me. Just thinking about getting on the bike, though, makes me want to run for the closest quart of ice cream and dive in. Logically, I know the odds of breaking my leg into dozens of pieces a second time have to be really, really long, but that knowledge doesn't help. I rode 24 miles yesterday, and rather liked it (well, except for my behind hurting -- I MUST get a gel seat and possibly bicycle pants!) but I had put off that ride for 6 weeks because I was so nervous at the prospect. I wonder if I'll ever get over my anxiety?
Coming April 2018: A Merry Baby
2 weeks ago