Only You...

...can prevent writer’s butt. And forest fires. But mostly writer’s butt. Truly, I spend very little time in the forest these days, so I’m not sure I’m much good at preventing forest fires.

However, sitting for hours upon hours in front of my computer, snacking the day away as I float from the dining room table, to the couch, to my office, and back, has not been kind to my waistline. After spending Saturday on the boat (in a bathing suit, of course) sitting beside my lovely and uber-fit friend, I’ve decided it’s time for me to get my tush in gear.

Now, any normal person might say, “Hey – why don’t I start running again!” or “I know, how about a nice refreshing swim?” or better yet “I’ll join a gym!”

Yeah. Not me. First of all, I positively melt in the southern heat, and running while getting all icky and sweaty as the sun beats down on me is not my idea of a good time. And swimming, well, its too tempting just to paddle around and play when I’m in the lake. And heaven knows I live too far out to belong to a gym.

So, what’s my solution?

Waterboarding. Okay, so it’s actually P90x, but it might as well be waterboarding. Having successfully completed the program two years ago, I thought, sure, I can do this again! Piece of cake. An hour and a half of exercise six days a week? Sign me up!

Well, two days in, all I have to say is uuhhhggggnnnrrrrr. Didn’t get that? That would be the unintelligible moan you would have heard if you were sitting here with me instead of reading my written words.

My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. My legs feel like two well-formed stacks of jello. My arse hurts, my chest aches, heck, even the balls of my feet aren’t happy. It is only through a miracle from heaven that Tony Horton didn’t devise an exercise to bulk up the muscles in my fingers, therefore leaving me with the ability to type.

So, what on earth made me think that I could do this? Rake myself over the coals each day (except Saturdays – yay!) before collapsing on the couch each night as a useless, half-dead bag of quivering muscles? I’m convinced I have some sort of inherent disconnect between what I can do and what I think I can do.

Seriously, do you ever watch, say, HGTV and go, yeah, I can retile my kitchen! Or observe a reality show where some former Navy SEAL make a fire out of a tin can, a marshmallow, and a button and roll your eyes and think, well, who couldn’t start a fire with those things? Do you sit on the couch and shake your head at the Tour de France cyclists and wonder how far you could bike if you had a $15,000 carbon-frame bicycle in your garage? How about those cake competition shows that you know you could kick there butt in if you were there?

Honest to goodness, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have some crazy, delusional side of me that doesn’t seem to get that I’m not superwoman. No, I can’t make snowshoes out of the rusted engine of an abandoned lawnmower. No, I will never be able to bike my way through the French Alps, no matter how expensive my bike is. And if I am ever dropped on a desert island without a lighter or a pack of matches, I’m just gonna have to learn to like sushi.

Honestly, I should just give up now and donate my P90x DVDs to some college kid who can actually do this stuff.

But then again… there is a lot of power in mind over matter. I mean, I said I could do a triathlon, and I did. I wanted a screened in porch, hardwood floors, and a finished basement, so I built them. I believed I could make a wakeboard groomsman cake despite the fact I'd only worked with fondant once before, and I figured out how to do it. I envisioned a career as a writer, so I sat down at the computer and wrote.

Which brings us back to the dreaded Writer’s Butt. Perhaps I can suffer through a little soreness if it means feeling good about myself and being as healthy as I can. Perhaps the pain, the sweat (ew), and the exhaustion are worth it. After all, I’ve done this before. I can do it again. And with time I’ll conquer the things that have been bothering me. No more tiredness, no more feeling blah, and no more Writer’s Butt.

Only I can prevent forest fires and a flat butt. And by jove, I shall.

So tell me, what impossible task do you think you can do? Have you ever tried it, or are you happy knowing that you could do it, if you ever decided to try? ;)