Ah, not exercising. Now, that sounds like true procrastination. It's enjoyable, though, in the sense that only true procrastination can be.
For as long as I can remember, I have taken a perverse pleasure in not doing what I am supposed to do. The task is sitting there, clear-cut, undone, waiting for me, while I savor the freedom of not doing it. Freedom isn't as free, for me, without that undone task sitting there.
My earliest recollection of this is sitting outside on a picnic table, hiding from my mother, who wants me to come in and clean my bedroom. No moments were ever so sweet as those I spent not cleaning my bedroom.
Can the joy of health that exercise brings ever match the joy of not exercising? |
