The Dangers of Exercise

I always laugh when people ask me if I run. (Some are actually looking right at me and can't come to a logical answer to that question!) Now, I run errands, and I run out of patience, but to say I physically move my legs quickly up and down, propelling my body in a forward motion....no- can't say that I do. I could probably work up a dash if a small child was in imminent danger of being hit by a speedy automobile, but short of impending death, not much would motivate me to run.

First of all, my body is not built for it. I don't have long, lanky legs. The adjectives to describe them would veer more to the side of short, fat and stumpy. Its not that with a little effort they couldn't become leaner, but lithe and willowy could never enter the picture. Lanky...graceful....NAW!!!

I also am a little top heavy. I'm afraid the Laws of Inertia might prove fatal if I got all of this bulk going at once and then was forced to halt rapidly. I just don't think I could make it all stop. It would be like the lead time a locomotive would need to stop for a bovine blocking the tracks. There's going to be a mess!!!

My top heavy tendencies would require a bra with the technology that would be capable of say...stopping a rocketship midflight. I know this from a near fatal experience I once had in an aerobics class. I was happily (okay- not so happily) doing jumping jacks, when I was accosted by some sort of wild criminal who was holding a knife to my throat. I got no demands for money (where would I be keeping it in the horrible exercise outfit I was wearing?), so I couldn't imagine what this thief might want. It was then that I realized that the underwire in my bra had cut loose and worked it's pointy way up to my neck. It's a lucky thing my terror froze me, because one more jumping jack and I could have experienced a fatal stabbing to the corotoid artery. Looking back on it all, I shutter to think how my obituary would have read. "MEMORIALS MAY BE DIRECTED TO PLAYTEX RESEARCH FOUNDATION''

Despite my reluctance to exercise, and the fact that it can sometimes be dangerous for me, I know that I need to do it. It is the same with exercising our faith. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's embarrassing to be vulnerable and put on the leotard of God and go traipsing off to Jazzercise . Sometimes we fall off the Step Aerobics stool and twist our ankles. When we try too hard, we may encounter a little pain, so we need to do the 'B' version of the exercise. (You know- the one that the perky, firm instructor demonstrates so that the fat girls can keep up with Suzy Showoff). That's okay though, because the effort makes the difference. As long as we keep trying, progress will be made and our faith muscles will increase. Slowly, but surely we can bulk ourselves up to Arnold size and stand victorious over the fat and flab of a weak faith.