I like to disillusion myself. It’s kind of a hobby of mine, particularly pertaining to physical activity. Allow me to cite some examples.
Example 1: After a year-long hiatus from soccer during my freshman year in high school, I decided to get back into shape for the spring season at my new school. So I tried out for the Olympic Development Program through my local premiere soccer league. Uncontrollable wheezing ensued.
Example 2: Leaving my soccer-playing days behind me after graduating high school, I stopped participating in any competitive sport. Wanting to get back into shape, I joined the college cross-country team my sophomore year. And lasted about four weeks. Brand-new cars log more miles during a test drive than I did that month.
Example 3: By the end of my dabble in cross-country running, I could handle a 5k without my lungs collapsing. So when I signed up to run a 5k three years later, despite zero training and birthing a child during the interim, I probably shouldn’t have been shocked that I only beat the guy who ran with a jogging stroller and a toddler in it. (Seven-year-olds lapped me.)
Example 4: Despite the last time I touched a soccer ball, even recreationally, being circa 2002, I paid a nominal fee to join an adult soccer league just last fall. Luckily, I got knocked up before I could do any serious damage and (gladly) had to quit.
Example 5: Because of said pregnancy, the last physical activity (aside from pushing out a newborn) I participated in (gasping and all) was a year ago. And yet just this morning, I found myself browsing the exercise class schedules on my local gym’s website, looking for the most intense kick-your-butt-and-not-feel-sorry-about-it class on the list to jumpstart my I-don’t-want-to-buy-a-new-wardrobe-so-I-better-lose-the-weight exercise regimen. I probably shouldn’t ignore the bold-faced, all caps “MUST BE IN SHAPE TO PARTICIPATE OR YOU WILL PROBABLY DIE AND WE DON’T WANT A LAWSUIT ON OUR HANDS” warning plastered across the page. Should I be wary of a class called “Boot Camp”?
I’ll let you know how this pans out. If I don’t permanently disable myself, that is.
Meet the Buttrams 