Working Out: Like, it’s totally hard and stuff. Whatever.

If it wasn’t for the threat of death, I would indeed just sit on my arse every day.

There you go. I’ll admit it, I don’t enjoy working out nearly as much as I enjoy a nice rest. Preferably with cheez-its at hand.

The problem is, you can’t do that for more then maybe two or three decades before your body gets very mushy, and your doctor starts grumbling at you about various three letter acronyms that boil down to "sludgy goo in your pipes". I’ve actually always been somewhat active so I never quite went fully to seed, but I did notice once I crossed the magic hill (as, in over the hill) that I could not get away with being slighy more active then full rigor. Oddly enough my dog seems to have the same problem.

Back in the good old days when people worked like (or along side) draft horses until they dropped dead, getting exercise was pretty much a by product of having not yet died. Don’t take my word for it, the guy who wrote this Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology found that working hard enough to stay alive in the preindustrial world (you know all time up to just a few hundred years ago) pretty much meant you were ripped.

My "work" involves copious amounts of sitting, which honestly really isn’t much of a workout. So to avoid turning into a large ill blob, I have to "work out" with some of my copious free time I am given due to this modern life we live. Woohoo, time to lift stuff, run in place, and otherwise artificially do what I should be doing naturally while hunting, gathering, or even farming.

Thankfully I can listen to podcasts while dong it.

Now, where did I leave those cheez-its?