Resting before I get tired

The problem for me has always been laziness. I am lazy. In any given situation, I will mentally calculate in a split-second the expenditure of physical energy between two options, and always choose the lesser of the two. I’ve often thought that if I wasn’t so lazy, I could have made a killing as an efficiency expert.

For instance, when backing out of my apartment parking space, should I reverse to the left and then go forward, thus requiring a hard left onto the driveway? That means two ninety-degree turns in a very small parking lot. But if there is an empty parking space behind me, and there usually is, I can back straight into it and then go forward with only a slight zigzag to get onto the driveway. Less work for my arms, see?

Or, when walking to the store, should I go this way or that way? Since they are both about the same distance, I also calculate how much exposure I will get (I am as self-conscious as a seventh grader) to the stares of drivers on El Cajon Boulevard. The left-hand route feels more exposed, but which door of the supermarket is open? After 8pm, they close the nearest door to my preferred route, so I have to decide whether I’m willing to take the slightly longer route or if I’m in a mood to be stared at by drivers waiting for the light to turn green on the shorter route. I could drive and avoid the stares altogether but that would be environmentally un-PC, since I live less than a block from the store.

OCD much, LaVonne? These are the things that go through my mind with every decision. Clearly, other concerns besides laziness factor into the equation, but the-straight-line-is-the-shortest is my prime directive.

And then there’s comfort. When deciding to force myself to exercise (always a difficult decision), should I wait until the cooler evening to go for a walk but wind up all sticky and red-faced anyway? Perhaps I should stay inside my air-conditioned apartment on these hot, humid days. If so, should I use the stair-stepper, which I hate and which leaves me breathless with pounding heart in less than five minutes? Or should I do yoga, which I sort of enjoy, but which takes a good forty-five minutes to an hour? I can’t make up my mind, so I go read Huffington Post or Facebook or a favorite blog, hoping that I’ll find something that tells me what to do. In no time the decision seems to be made: I’ll feel better after a nap.

My motto for years has been, “When in doubt, lie down.” I hate physical (and even mental) effort with a passion. Aversion to mental effort is a big reason I’m always whining about writer’s block—it’s not a block so much as pure laziness: writing is hard fucking work.

[Like just now: I realized this isn’t going where I intended and got anxious about how to tie it all together, so I went to check my email and then I got up and did some laundry, and looked in the fridge to see if there was anything I could eat to calm my anxiety. (There wasn’t, at least nothing I wanted.) Then sat down at the computer again. I started picking at a rough patch of skin on my right index finger, and decided to smooth it down with an emery board. Then I had to check the spelling of ‘emery.’ Now I’m noticing a slight hunger pang—alert! Better go get some food! This goes on and on until it’s time for bed. It will start all over again tomorrow.]

Where was I? Oh, yes.

So you can see how ridiculous it is that I dream of somehow making myself over into an outdoors-y, athletic kind of person. What am I thinking?! Sure, I want to be slim and fit and full of energy, I really do. What I don’t want is to sweat or be uncomfortable in any way. Obviously, that’s not going to work. And neither will trying to force myself to do what I hate doing. This is my dilemma: how to get fit and healthy (and looking good enough to not mind being stared at) while at the same time having fun?

My plan to have ‘adventures’ all summer long started out like gangbusters with a kayaking expedition and a camping trip. Then—it sort of petered out. I loved camping but kayaking scared me, frankly. It was a lot harder than I expected, and it hurt like a sonofabitch. So my plan to take a surfing lesson has been postponed several times already. I’m afraid that I’m not up to it, physically. I’m also not relishing wearing a wetsuit in public again because of that seventh-grade self-consciousness thing. Add those fears (and yes, laziness) to my strong dislike of spending money (renting a surfboard and a wetsuit costs $40), and you have a recipe for flaking out.

I don’t have a solution for this. Do you? Please tell me in the comments! What has worked–or not worked–for you?