Yeah, you can count me among the unwashed masses that routinely make unsuccessful attempts at fitness. So there.
I'm one of those that enjoys working or playing at something that is physically exerting and thereby getting my "workout" without actually calling it "exercise." Working with horses or out in the yard or playing volleyball, those are the things I enjoy doing that give a pretty good workout while I'm having fun. Last weekend me and Big Daddy spent 4 hours going through stuff from our old storage building, throwing stuff out, re-organizing and re-packing in new boxes, then lugging said new boxes up to the attic with its newly laid flooring.
4 hours. Multiple 20 and 30 lb boxes. Temperature in the attic: 85°+. All of that equals a lot of sweat and muscle participation.
Now, on top of that, I recently dusted off the old treadmill in an effort to shed a few pounds that sneaked up behind me when I wasn't looking. And when I say "behind" I mean my ass.
So, for eight days straight I was walking (at a brisk pace, mind you) 1.5 miles on the treadmill. Except the one day we spent working in the attic. One the ninth day, with much positive anticipation, I happily marched myself over to the scale to weigh in and see how much havoc I had wreaked on those extra pounds. I confidently expected to see many of them missing as a casualty of my determination and fortitude.
WTH? I can lose one pound WHILE I SLEEP!
But a dear friend (they'll say anything to make us happy, won't they?) told me, "It's cause you're building muscle . . . you're not going to see a drop in the scale."
Yeah. Yeah, that's it. I'm muscling up.