Only an idiot would claim to love every form of exercise. At 61, I believe it’s the only way to delay the body’s slow crumble, but ugh, so much of it is unpleasant, or dull, or just not for me. I don’t think I will ever not hate Bulgarian split squats. I’m bored to tears by the static bike. Football, rugby, tennis, cricket? Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt.
But that’s OK, because there’s a lot that I adore. Running. Lake swims. Yoga. Skiing, snowshoeing, anything snow-related. Just bloody walking! And above all, calisthenics – dangling from gymnastics rings, standing on my hands, trying to hoist and fold and balance myself in ways that demand far more strength and control than I can usually muster. I will never be cool, but “cali” is.
