With just a few exceptions, I hate to exercise. I don’t do
aerobic classes because I’m clumsy and can’t remember my left from my right.
I’d rather be water-boarded than run on the treadmill for an hour. “Don’t make
my go another mile! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!!” Running outside
is a hilarious joke. Why should I punish passing drivers by subjecting them to
the sight of me attempting to coordinate my flailing arms and legs? I could
cause a four-car pileup!
My newest form of exercise, a.k.a. relentless torture, is
Wii Fit. I got the game and the balance board about two weeks ago to spice up
my workout routine. I decided that if I’m going to look awkward and ungainly
I’d rather do it in the comfort of my own home without a trainer hounding me to
do just…one…more…sit-up.
Little did I know how much the game would become my greatest
nemesis. The first day that I tried it—a Monday—I stood on the balance board as
the game asked me a bunch of questions. Afterwards, it calculated my “Wii Fit
Age.” I’m now on the tail end of thirty-six but the game—a small black box with
neither a heart nor a soul—told me that my Wii age is 47. I was a little
disappointed but chose not to give that arbitrary number any power over me. It
was my motivation to improve. I worked out that first day in several of the
categories and felt pretty good about it. The next day, I ran on the treadmill
(Please don’t ever tell me any secrets. Now that I’ve broadcasted what my
kryptonite is—running in place for an hour—they’ll know how to break me!) so
that I could justify buying the aggravating machine. When I went back to the
Wii on Wednesday, the first thing it asked me was “Were you too tired to work
out yesterday?” That was a little creepy. I felt like I was being bullied by
HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I
started imagining the Wii contacting the other electronics in our house to
strengthen its hold on me.
Wii:“Microwave and Toaster Oven, report on Abby’s
breakfast.”
Toaster: “It’s a Pop Tart, sir”
Wii: “Unacceptable. No matter. We will break her yet.”
When I worked out with the Wii in our basement the following
Friday, I tried a game that instructed me to flap my arms like a bird to land
on these raised platforms. I felt ridiculous doing it but it did get my heart
rate thumping. As I was considering how glad I was to be at home alone while
making a spectacle of myself, I looked over my shoulder out the narrow window
near the ceiling. I saw a squirrel sitting right by the window watching me. It
sat there a full minute glancing back and forth between me and the TV screen.
Eventually he scampered forward a little bit but continued to watch me. I had
no idea I would ever be able to entertain woodland creatures with my exercising
awkwardness but you never know how God will use your gifts.
I didn’t use the Wii again until the following Tuesday. Of
course, this tyrannical video game was incensed that I had been gone for so
long. It also told me that I had gained 3.5 pounds. As if this wasn’t
disheartening enough, it gave me a list of choices to select the reason for my
weight gain. Since “Bloating/Weight Gain Due to PMS” wasn’t a choice, I chose
“I don’t know” instead. Even though it had offered this as a choice, it still
had a snarky follow-up question: “Are you sure you don’t know why you gained this weight?” Seriously. It is lucky
it’s not built like an anatomically correct man because at that moment I would
have placed my anatomically correct knee in its Wii-Baby-Maker, a.k.a.
DS-Maker.
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