A close second? It’s too early in the day. I mean, I woke up only seven hours ago. You have to respect your circadian rhythm. Otherwise, why bother with a biological clock?
Also, I worked out three weeks ago. That should qualify as boost. In any case, all experts warn against exaggeration. That’s why I lower it. If you don’t, you inevitably avoid overdoing it.
If I exercised today, I would also have to take a shower. That requires a lot of water. I’m just trying to be super sustainable here, people!
It would also help me to be in the mood to exercise. Unfortunately, I’m never in the mood to work out. But you never know. The muse could appear at any moment.
Also, I already do a lot of what you call incidental exercise, the kind that builds up through normal everyday activity. I floss vigorously. I do butterfly curls with my fork while I eat. Everything counts.
I also have a lot more to do today. I seriously doubt that all those emails in my spam file will delete themselves. And someone has to watch YouTube videos of babies playing with puppies and vice versa.
And I’m too hungry to blow my quads right now. All dietitians advise that you should never do Downward Facing Dog while you’re craving Nutella. Or while he is full either. Or, my personal policy, anytime between meals or snacks. If you give up unnecessary movement, you facilitate digestion.
What if I start my exercise routine and end up interrupted? Things always come up. Skipping the exercise ensures that nothing can interrupt it. Ever.
If I only belonged to a gym, I would be more motivated to exercise.
Or if I had an expensive personal trainer who would yell at me in an impenetrable language.
Or even a training partner who never yelled at me in an impenetrable language.
Or if sweatpants fit me better. Or it could prevent my body from throbbing in places I didn’t even know I had places. Or I had the right app to track my metrics to the decimal point. Or my hair stayed in place while my body sweated old fashioned. Or the moisture would loosen. Or knew how to do any kind of exercise in the first place. Or I could get exactly the results I envision for myself almost instantly. Or I could hold realistic expectations about my chances of becoming the next Mr. Olympia.
If only all of those factors converged, that, my friends, would be a game changer. The long-awaited new me, chiseled, carved, torn, shredded, and played to the max, would finally appear in my mirror.
Am I really asking for that much? I mean, everyone gets a little out of shape from time to time.
It’s probably just my age, although I’m still under 100 years old.
Just thinking about all these reasons is exhausting. I better lie down to catch my breath.
Bob Brody, consultant and essayist, is the author of the memoir “Playing Catch With Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.”
