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by Rhonda RheaI knew there was a problem when I realized that my control top pantyhose were completely out of control. They snickered at me when I even glanced in their direction and then gave me that "you've got to be kidding" look. Then as I was looking at a friend's photos, I saw a plump lady wearing a suit just like mine. I asked, "Who's that chubby woman in the ... AUGH-GH-GH-GH!" I tried to rationalize that the camera adds 10-15 pounds. But when someone asked exactly how many cameras I had eaten, I thought it must be time to start that exercise program I've been putting off for the last 15 years or so.
I have good intentions when it comes to exercise. Really I do. But something always seems to get in the way. The other day I almost made it to my exercise bike, but an interesting episode of "Matlock" came on. What could I do—it was MATLOCK! Then there was all-you-can-stomach day at the donut shop. I couldn't miss that.
I decided I needed some accountability if I was going to discipline myself to do this exercise thing. So I signed up for an aerobics class. Right off the bat: stretching, straining, pulling, whining, moaning—you've never beheld such a struggle. Then after I got the leotard on, they still wanted me to exercise! Anyway, I started to wonder exactly how much sense this class was making when I realized I had taken the elevator to class, and then I got on the stair-stepper. I waited for twenty minutes for some lady to pull out of a parking spot so I could get myself within twenty paces of the front door, then got on the treadmill. What's wrong with this picture?
There was some svelt little woman in spandex repeating how she just "loved to exercise," talking about how invigorating it was and how she gets up at four every morning and runs her 10K before heading to the gym. I wanted to secretly switch her spandex wonder suit with one six sizes to small. You know, let her walk a mile in my Nikes!
The next day after that class, though, I felt refreshed and invigorated. Yeah right! I felt like I'd been hit by a mac truck. Muscles I never knew I had were screaming in rebellion. I was listening. I decided I must be exercise impaired. And I didn't want anyone to try to fix it. So please don't offer me a support group—unless you plan to serve donuts at the meetings.
However, I'm not giving up on what I like to call "soul aerobics." There are exercises we can all do to increase our spiritual strength and endurance. God's Word is our isometric connection and helps us build the spiritual muscle we need to keep going. Praying moment by moment is like continually pumping iron, building our spiritual strength. Plugging in to a church where we can worship, serve and fellowship gives us even better support and accountability than an aerobics class—and without the spandex.
These are the kind of exercises I just can't laugh off. As for the bodily exercise, if I exercise my prerogative, isn't that enough? I'm exercising my prerogative NOT to sweat that exercise routine.
Rhonda Rhea writes award-winning inspirational humor columns for other Christian publications in the U.S. and Canada. Look for her new book, Amusing Grace, at your local Christian bookstore. Click here to see her web site.
Related Reading:
Learning to see yourself as God sees you
