I exercise every day because
I eat a magnificent amount of snacks it clears my head. When I am stressed, physical exertion allows me to vent. Catharsis. Free therapy session. Drug with no side effects. When I am not stressed, well, mainly I am just not conscious about the stress and the lighter feeling I have post-work out alerts me to it working out gives me a sense of productivity, like I have done something nice for my body, like I have my shit together.
These days, I exercise at home, in the balcony, surrounded by plants, first thing upon waking up. I do a mix of cardio and bodyweight exercises, and finish with yoga. If I did not snack like a champion, I may or may not be super hot by now. Working out is the most important part of my day, a crucial pill
that keeps me from killing myself or murdering other people for self-care, especially in this most claustrophobic time. My personal values are freedom and peace, and I am infinitely sensitive to a lack of space and agency. My ability to enjoy life then equates to the capacity of a teaspoon. I know things could be worse, but that does not make the challenges I face any less valid. I just cannot breathe. Physically, not dramatically.
So I work out, every day, for at least an hour and a half. Sweat the negatives off. Get my endorphins going. Try to put some sense back into my head and focus on the beautiful things remaining in this life. Like my Crayola-green plants, pink roses in bloom, and tiny purple basil flowers attracting pollinators to our tiny garden, or the gang of yellow birds with red eyes that hang out on the chico tree daily, their chirping so joyful I am certain they are having a corona virus party.
Cross-body mountain climbers. Burpees. High knees. Squat with kicks. Plank with hip dips. Things will be okay, soon. Deep breaths. Stretching. Humming breaths. I got this. Just like every other extinction event I survived by exercising.
Case in point: When I was having a depression almost a decade ago, the only normal thing I was able to do was train muay thai (shout out to Phuket Top Team). Of course, it eventually turned out abnormal as it was the only thing I did for six to eight hours a day. But that is a story for another time. Stay sweaty and healthy, my friends. Do 10 jumping jacks if you feel the overwhelming urge to murder anyone.