Against Exercise
When people talk about how amazing intensive exercise feels, particularly running, hiking, or cycling for long periods of time, the extent to which I can relate is so profoundly miniscule that I literally can no longer see these individuals as sharing a common humanity with me. You are an unrecognizable, foreign species. You have alienated me as a friend. I’m physically exhausted just reading about your marathon.
There is one truth my body has told me, and it’s that cardio activity = excruciating self-punishment. Aerobic exercise is essentially an act I only commit out of a sense of guilt and loathing, sort of like sex with men. It is not fun, energizing, or invigorating. It does not produce feelings of pride or accomplishment. It is something I have done in response only to external pressures, and it has never once lived up to the oft-promised endorphin rush. (I get more of an endorphin rush when I window shop for Fall accessories).
In case my point has been too subtle thus far: To me, running a marathon is basically re-enacting the parts of the Holocaust where Jews were forced to work or march for hours in the snow with no breaks or water.
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