My embarrassingly dusty step benches, weights, and yes – even VHS tapes. I swear it wasn't 1995 the last time I used these. Though some of it has been around since then!
“I think you should exercise more “. Lucky for my husband he followed that up with – “I’m not talking about your weight, I just think it would help your diabetes and I want you around for a long time”. My response? “Um, excuse me Mr. Perfect, didn’t you just see me doing the Running Man after I tested my blood sugar and declared a glorious reading of 92?”
In his defense, Mr. Perfect works out 5x a week. I generally cook, clean, read, write, or zone out online while he works out. My exercise yesterday consisted of clipping my Pomeranian’s toenails. This is not an easy task. I might as well have been trying to put socks on an octopus. Don’t get me wrong, I get activity. I take the stairs at work, park further from the building, do laptop curls while I wait for my computer to boot up, that sort of thing, but the intensive “sweatabetes” sessions have gone M.I.A.
About the time I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at eighteen, I was in the habit of taking two (two!!!) aerobics classes five (five!!!) days a week. I was at my healthiest when the sugar hit the fan.
Hubby’s comments got me thinking though that I really should be getting more exercise. My diagnosis was almost seventeen (seventeen!!! Sorry, I’ll knock that off now) years ago. I need to get back on track and stay on track. I was doing well during the warmer months, but during winter in Chicago, I got lazy. Who hasn’t? Um, please don’t tell me if you haven’t. J
Exercise for a diabetic consists of more than just tying on your running shoes and hitting the trail. Worries cloud the mind. Worries like – how quickly will my blood sugars drop? Where did I put all my shiny medical I.D. necklaces? Why am I not wearing one right now? Will I pass out at the park and have some stranger trying to force feed me something until I choke? How do I stash emergency fruit gummies or a juice box in my pocket-less workout getup? Underpants gummies are just wrong and sports bra gummies or a third boob in the shape of a juice box isn’t much better.
On the other hand, hearing my husband of nearly ten years (who’s seen me at my best and definitely my worst), say he wants me around for a long time. It’s enough to make a girl get off the couch and brave the trail. I want to be around a long time too. Perhaps I’ll bring Mr. P. to help carry my snack arsenal and fend off strangers with choking hazards and good intentions. He wants me around. J How can I argue with that?