Working Out

There’s always a point in the work out videos I use when the leader asks, “Aren’t you glad you worked out today?” or “Doesn’t this feel good?” Mentally, I answer “NO” every time. I’ve never been one of those people who enjoys exercise. It’s more of a necessary evil. I suspect I’m not alone in this 😉

Writing about the agony of exercise is way more fun. “Working Out” is a poem in my latest book, Shadow and Memory, and captures the antipathy I feel towards exercising.

Working Out

I start streaming my workout video,
pumping arms,
kicking legs—
flailing in the empty air—
because I believe
this will accomplish something.

Under his breath,
my teenage self says something
about another pathetic iteration
of every other pathetic adult 
who thought a dorky workout video
was a fairy godmother…

or something like that

which is when I notice
the shades are open.

My inner teen’s wail dies
as this missile of humiliation
hits.

Then an old guy 
zombie-walks around the corner
wearing a jogging suit
and matching headband,
fashion I can only describe as
undead.

I guess we all look ridiculous
when working out.

My inner teen sneers.
(Sarcasm is the psyche’s cockroach
and can survive anything,
even missiles of humiliation).

The old guy passes my window
slower than a kidney stone,
and the whole time—
like mature adults—
we pretend
not to notice each other.