Hate to Exercise? You Got Company.

(This is not actually Munchberry demonstrating the proper use of a treadmill--Photo by normanack)

Hi everyone, Crabby here!  But only for 2 paragraphs, which trust me, is a good thing. I'm still at the "hey, we're having an awesome time, wanna see 18,000 photos of us standing in front of a bunch of old European shit?" stage of our journey.  That plus a few miscellaneous observations about cross-cultural differences in public lavatories** is about all my tiny brain is up for.  So instead, how about a great guest post by the awesome Munchberry of I'm Just Puffy?

**In Berlin and vicinity, we discovered you have to pay to use the restroom everywhere, even if you are in a fancy shopping mall. And at the train station, a trip to the toilet costs $1.50! In Edinburgh, the WC's we've encountered have been free, but despite using thousands of gallons of water per flush, they are powerless against a couple of squares of toilet paper...OK, so now see why I'm psyched to have a great guest post?)

Hello Cranky Fitnessites!

Munchberry here at the helm today while The Boss is plowing through haggis and doing squats over the Blarney Stone. OK, not the Blarney Stone – unless she is really long-legged and ultra bendy (as she claims to be). [Crab note: Oh yeah, that's definitely me, long-legged & bendy... I also have abs of steel, massive guns, a bootylicious posterior, an IQ of 743, and some prime real estate on the moon you may be interested in purchasing.] And no, I guess I am not at the helm, but more broadcasting to you from the crustacean basement where they have me chained to their treadmill.

Why, you ask, am I chained to their treadmill? Because Cranky knows that the only way to get me to exercise is to lock me in the room with the equipment and force reconcilliation or at least detante. For I am the only person on earth that hates to exercise. What? You too? Pfft. The things I do in order to avoid exercising! OY.

Instead of exercise I will read my old organic chemistry book from 25 years ago. I will clean toilets and possibly even dog barf. I will clean my oven. I have been known to go down to my own home workout room that is filled with every manner of exercisy things, flip on a Jillian Michaels DVD and then LAY on the weight bench and twiddle my thumbs for 45 minutes while Jillian screams and I fake grunt (sounds very much like a fake orgasm but with less happy excitement). I then will spritz my face with the fern mister, toss water under my arms and trudge upstairs and LIE to my husband about how Jillian has it out for me. That is how I conducted myself for a while until my husband heard one too many fake gruntings, came down and caught me in the act. I was assuming my regular reclined position on the bench, plugged into my I-Pod and was singing away and grunting for a LONG while before I noticed him watching me with such a look of disgust that I had… HAD to change my ways.

So how do I manage to exercise without falling into a major depression?


I treat myself like a toddler facing down vegetables. Don’t judge! There are a lot of things I have not tried to do in a while because I was too heavy (I thought) or too ungainly (I was) to do them. I have lost about 90 pounds and have 30 or so more to go so there have been some agilability changes. Yes, that is a word in Munchberryville. Anyhoo, NOW I say to myself these toddleresque things (no sense in drawing it out and being all suspensful like):

Try it. If you don’t like it, you can spit it out in your napkin. I try all sorts of new sporty things. Why not, right? I can spit it out! I found I LOVE to play tennis (I can bash things – OK… lob). I love to play pickleball. I tear up the batting cages! I’m sorry that is another lie. I tear up the air as I wiff… still – exercise! I also like to do water aerobics. I found I still hate to do pool laps (I did them from about 8-20 years old and hated it then too) and I refuse to run unless someone is chasing me with a knife or the ice cream man is heading out of the neighborhood. The point is – I try all sorts of heart beaty things and if it sticks, I do it until I don’t feel it anymore OR I cultivate a big love for it and do it forever. No pressure.

Try to eat what is on your plate. If I sign up for 10 sessions of hot yoga (barf), I am gonna finish. I have a LIFETIME of being a giant quitter – where I don’t initially like something too much (*see ice skating and horeseback riding) so I ditch it and never look back. You know what? I seriously hated pickleball the last time I tried it, but a friend kept on raving about it and driving me up a tree about going and so I did. Guess who likes pickleball. Ditto that for the water aerobics. This Winter I look forward to a series of 10 water ballet lessons. Yep. Water ballet. I already have my daisy cap.

Pretend it is something else. As you know (because I just told you – PAY ATTENTION) I hate the exercise room. But I live in rain country. Sometimes the elliptical and weights are what is available and ants in the pants must be attended to. So like children who may pretend broccoli is a tiny tree and they are giants devouring them I pretend cake is on my knees when I am working the abs on the fitness ball and I must make like packman and reach up to gobble it. That the fitness ball is a hobby horse or that I am doing some sort of sexy rolling thing as I “loosen up” on the ball (again with the judging? Jeesh). I also pretend that someone is chasing me or that Mr. Munchberry (Not really Mr. Munchberry – I am not going to share that with you interlopers) is admiring me as I ellipticise. I run extra hard. You come up with your own fantasies OK!? I am a simple girl.

Celebrate and do a dance when you finish. I am a big fan of doing the Snoopy Dance whenever I kick exercise butt. (Look it up – very satisfying). I have done that dance since I was a wee one. If you do something that pretty much goes against your nature, best to celebrate when mission is accomplished. I did it as a child when my mom said my room was clean enough to go out and play. Now I do it every time I work up a sweat. Mr. Munchberry and I have been married going on 20 years. He has grown used to my post… posting with the Snoopy Dance. In fact, he does a Snoopy dance himself. Don’t tell him I told you!

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