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Close second? It’s too early in the day. I mean, I just woke up seven hours ago. You have to respect your circadian rhythm. Otherwise, why bother with having an internal clock?
Also, I trained three weeks ago. That should count as momentum. In any case, all experts warn against overdoing it. That’s why I understate it. Underdoing inevitably prevents overdoing.
If I were to train today, I would also have to take a shower. That requires a lot of water. Just trying to be super sustainable here guys!
It would also help me actually be in the mood to move. Unfortunately, I’ve never been in the mood for sports. But you never know The muse could appear at any moment now.
Also, I’m already getting a lot of what you call incidental exercise, the kind that comes from normal, everyday activities. I floss vigorously. When I eat, I make butterfly curls with my fork. Everything counts.
I also have too many other things to do today. I seriously doubt that all those emails in my junk file will just delete themselves. And someone needs to watch YouTube videos of babies frolicking with puppies and vice versa.
And I’m just too hungry to blast my quads right now. All nutritionists warn that you should never do a downward dog while craving Nutella. Or either full. Or – my personal guideline – anytime between meals or snacks. Avoiding unnecessary exercise makes digestion easier.
And what if I start my fitness routine only to get interrupted at the end? Things keep coming. Bypassing the exercise ensures that nothing can interrupt it. je.
If only I belonged in a gym, I would be more motivated to work out.
Or if I had an expensive personal trainer yelling at me in an impenetrable language.
Or even just a training buddy who never yelled at me in an impenetrable language.
Or whether sweatpants would look better on me. Or I could prevent pinching in my body in places I didn’t even know I had. Or I had the right app to track my metrics down to the decimal point. Or my hair stayed in place while my body sweated to the oldies. Or the moisture would subside. Or I even knew how to do any kind of exercise. Or I could get the exact results I want for myself almost instantly. Or I could have realistic expectations about my chances of being the next Mr. Olympia.
If only all of these factors converged – that, my friends, would be a game changer. The long-awaited new me—chiselled, carved, torn, shredded, and jacked to the breaking point—would finally appear in my mirror.
Am I really asking that much? I mean, everyone gets a little out of shape every now and then.
It’s probably just my age, even though I’m still well under 100.
It’s exhausting just finding all these reasons. I better lie down to catch my breath.
Bob Brody, consultant and essayist, is the author of the memoir Playing Catch With Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.
