Exercise
One word that either elicits a life sustaining high of endorphins or brings oppressive feelings of overwhelming dread.
Sadly, I fall into the dread category. I’ve tried for years to find those ever elusive endorphins. I fully believe the scientific research that they exist, but a long line of lazy makes exercise more of a chore than a pleasure for me.
So when my husband looked for a breed of dog for our middle years, he wanted a companion that would be “active” to help us move more. I have understood for quite some time that God has a delightful sense of humor so “active” breed translates to “never-ever-ever ceases motion.”
I learned early on that if I wanted to accomplish anything around the house, a morning walk was a necessity. The first mile sets a record pace, then he will settle down a little for the second mile. When we get home, he has calmed down enough that some household chores can be performed…until I start chasing him around the house to pry a dryer sheet out of his mouth or stop writing long enough to let him outside for the 1000 time.
On days that I work, he cannot be left alone to his own mischief. He goes to his grandparents’ house. Due to his high activity level and overall hyper nature, I possessed deep concerns about taking him there at first. They don’t get around as easily as they did once upon a time when they kept all the other grands. My biggest worry was that he would trip my dad or just get under foot and cause a fall.
Covid was not kind to my dad. Pre-Covid, he drove and met the coffee bunch regularly. But during the pandemic, he sat. TV provided companions rather than the coffee drinkers, and he became physically weak. The medical term is generalized deconditioning. Since his vaccines and Covid fears have lessened - plus my mom never slowed down a second and brings home whatever cootie exposure may be floating around - he now ventures out of the house, but his body is not the same. He still cannot drive because his legs have limited strength. He goes to physical therapy to exercise and this helps, but when you are 90, the body has limits.
But what helps the most? Visits from a grandpup named Luca, who somehow senses that maybe jumping up on grandpa is not a great idea but putting a head in his lap and stealing a potato chip is. And guess who exercises a whole lot more when Luca is around? Leaves get raked so someone can jump in them and scatter them. Bird feeders get filled so someone can bark a little more. A few more weeds get pulled so someone can run around the yard. And a 90 year old gets a lot more exercise and has a real life companion other than the television.
As I think back over my sedentary self during the course of the pandemic, I realize how little I breathed. I wonder if I figuratively held my breath for two years, waiting for the world to return to normal. But it never did. Nothing will ever be like it was.
I heard a speaker recently talk about how the workplace opened back up with such relish to be reunited with its workers - its friends - but no one knew how to help us all grieve what we lost. Things proceeded with pre-pandemic policies - maybe hygiene and safety protocols in place - but with no grief counseling available. So many people lost loved ones and may never have appropriately processed emotions. People working from the safety and security of home were thrust into large spaces that may have once been positive environments but now felt like over-exposure. Once rewarding, fulfilling careers in the light of trauma seemed shallow and trivial. What once elicited a life sustaining high of endorphins now evokes an oppressive feeling of overwhelming dread.
I didn’t want a dog that made me walk two miles just so I could do laundry. But guess what I needed? Getting up 30 minutes early so I can drop him off at grandparent day care before work also annoys me, but seeing the gloved hand scratch an ear before Luca hops in my car, and knowing my daddy has been working in the yard and not sitting in a chair all day - so worth it.
Psalm 121
A Psalm of David.
The Lord Our Protector
1 “I lift my eyes toward the mountains. Where will my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not allow your foot to slip; your Protector will not slumber.
4 Indeed, the Protector of Israel does not slumber or sleep.
5 The Lord protects you; the Lord is a shelter right by your side.
6 The sun will not strike you by day or the moon by night.
7 The Lord will protect you from all harm; he will protect your life.
8 The Lord will protect your coming and going both now and forever.”
Psalms 121:1-8 CSB
Exercise is so much more than the movement of the physical body. Exercise reminds us to wake up. Breathe. Remember who is the sovereign majesty. Maker of heaven and earth. Protector of me and my sweet 90 year old daddy. God is not sleeping. God is not scared. God's endorphins are full steam ahead, and He has His ways of waking us up from our generalized deconditioning whether we are interested in exercising or not. Just ask Luca.
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