We’re In This Together
Published Jan. 28, 2007

      My husband and I have always been well-intentioned when it comes to staying fit.
We go to the grocery store with a list of healthy, organic foods and plan to hit the
gym with a genuine interest in working out. But then in a dazzling display of support,
we talk ourselves right out of it.
      “You know what sounds good right now? Chocolate chip cookies,” I’ll venture,
just to see his level of determination when it comes to actually making it to the gym.
      “Yeah? Maybe.” I sense an opening.
      “How ‘bout we have a little bite to eat and relax before going to the gym?”
      “Ok, but afterwards, we work out.”
      “Of course,” I say as I start making the cookie dough.
      This dynamic has worked well for us over the years, because rather than one of
us staying terrifically fit and the other terrifically fat, we simply lollygagged somewhere
in the middle together. After all, we’re partners. It’s the least we can do for each other.
      So when my husband blew out his knee (locals’ speak for tearing the anterior
cruciate ligament), and had to attend physical therapy at the gym three times a week
I looked at it as a fine opportunity to work out with him.
      I lasted a week.
      The perfectly fit (and you know who you are) contend that it’s just a matter of
priorities. You have to make time. Schedule it in. Make no excuses. Hey – they aren’t
excuses. I actually have been meaning to put the photos from 1995 into a scrapbook
for a really long time, and – finally – here’s my chance. Back off.
      The truth is, I’d be a whole lot better off if I didn’t actually enjoy skiing, hiking and
biking…sometimes. I actually love a good long bike ride in Moab or a hike over to
Crested Butte in the summer. I like being fit enough to ski top to bottom runs and
laugh with the wind on my face. The problem is: I’m not. Because I don’t do it often
enough.
      It didn’t used to be like this. In my twenties I worked out and did whatever outdoor
activity I pleased simply because I could. What else was I gonna do after work? In my
thirties, I had three little kids to run after and keep occupied with bike rides to the
park and hikes around our hillside neighborhood. Baby fat dropped off of me like
sweat.
      But in this (very short time) in my forties I suddenly sit. A lot. I sit here writing at
the computer. I sit in meetings and conferences. I sit on bleachers and in auditorium
seats watching my kids stay healthy and active. And, truth be told, nothing appeals to
me more than sitting with a mai-tai on the beach.
      Frankly, it would be a lot easier for me if I could just eat cupcakes and sleep late
and still – once in a while – be able to climb to the top of Machu Pichu.
Sadly, I cannot. (But hey, neither can you, so pay attention here.)
      So I’ll stay well-intentioned. Even as I write this I’m on a time crunch so I can
make it to the gym while my husband has physical therapy. After all, I want to be
supportive. It’s just that there are so many things I’d rather be doing.
Like making chocolate chip cookies.