Sore muscles every day, every day
Home workouts are no fun
Our author got carried away. From motivating Instagram posts, fitness bloggers and slim models: she started doing home workouts. "A crisp half an hour," they said. "You will love your body," they said. An attempt to explain.
I have an office job. So, now it's out. And since we have been doing our everyday life in the don't know how many lockdowns, my range of motion has been limited to shopping once a week – more activity was not possible for a long time. Honestly: A colleague said in a meeting that she walked 10,000 steps a day. How much do we manage on a normal day? But then I was very quickly mute. My cell phone showed me exactly 35 steps. No more, but (after all) no less either.
The full program
Sitting a lot has made itself more than noticeable through a sore back and constant neck pain. The extra pounds I've accumulated over the months, ignored. At some point I had to admit to myself: It can't go on like this. And from one day to the next I started doing sports. With all the trimmings: Warm-Up, Cool-Down, Full Body, No Jumping, Apartment Friendly, HIIT, Strong Core, the old story. I've even installed an app with which I can track my newly imposed exercise obligation on a daily basis.
It doesn't fail because of motivation
For the past 48 days, I've been moving intensively for at least 30 minutes a day. And what should I say? It's just not my world. Not like that at all. It is said that you should hold out for almost three months until a new habit has been integrated into everyday life in such a way that it belongs to it – such as brushing your teeth, changing socks or showering (hopefully). I'm not far from that either – and primarily it's not my motivation that almost makes me fail, oh no. After 48 more or less excruciating days, I am firmly convinced that neither my mind nor my body are made to be turned into a snail by the Pamela Reifs of this world.
45 incredibly long seconds
Everything hurts me It's no fun. It's exhausting and takes too long. I feel ripped off because a made-up and styled woman gives me a rock-hard workout and then still looks like she was peeled off the egg. While halfway through I lie on the mat, sweating, my head reddened and my arms trembling. I learned how long 45 seconds can be. Incomprehensible. Long.
New life energy? Puff cake
And the advertised new life energy is also a long time coming. For this I now always plan my days around half an hour in which I should completely exhaust myself: In the evening I don't feel like it after a strenuous day, in the morning I feel sick because I haven't eaten enough and at noon I actually want to at least have my rest during the break. I envy those around me who torture themselves out of bed an hour earlier in the morning to go jogging. And those who still find the leisure to squeeze into pinching sportswear after work and everyday tasks.
It is enough
I do not feel like it anymore. My muscles don't feel like anymore. We just can't anymore. I actually only do the workouts because I tell myself it's good for my body. But I'm not so sure anymore. Yesterday I couldn't stand Pamela's waving at the camera anymore. Closed my laptop, put on comfortable clothes and went for a walk. No more crying and self-pity – maybe this will be my new workout. Go for a leisurely walk. Splendid.