Back in the years 2020 and 2021, years that are increasingly easy to categorize as “the past” rather than the ongoing present, I worked from home every day, and on most of those days I exercised from home, too. In the late morning between meetings, or around lunchtime, I rode a stationary bike or lifted weights or danced to Rihanna with a choreographer who broadcast a daily live class from an enviable house in Joshua Tree.
It was easy, in those days when nothing much else was easy, to find time to exercise. The routine that had evaded me most of my life was, during those years, achievable. In the years since, this routine has become unrealistic most of the time. Days are once again organized around the office and its commute. The options for how to spend nonwork time are no longer confined to a limited lockdown menu of what can be accomplished at a distance of six feet or more. Exercise has, once again, become something that I put on a to-do list and try to squeeze in before or after work, an essential practice, but one that now competes with the entire open world for my time and attention.
I’ve settled where many of us do, on a non-routine whereby I exercise whenever I can: a before-work jog when I can rouse myself, quick rounds of strength training between meetings on days I work remotely, longer workouts on weekends. I constantly feel that I’m not doing enough, not engaged in a rigorous enough program of optimization.
I read this week about a recent study in which people who exercised in the evening saw their risk of death decline by as much as 28 percent compared with those who exercised in the morning or afternoon. This, I thought, was compelling! I should become an after-work exerciser, one of those people who changes into their gym clothes before leaving the office, who runs on a treadmill while watching “The Bachelor,” and — who knows what else might be possible? — eats three ounces of lean protein for dinner at 8, spends a good 20 minutes melting the ravages of sitting from my hips with a foam roller and is in bed with a book — no screens! — by 10.
I quickly realized this was a ridiculous fantasy. I’m a dutiful exerciser, a doing-it-because-I-have-to person, always under slight duress, wanting to have it done so that I can feel accomplished but also always fighting my essential nature, which is, I’ve grown OK with admitting, a little lazy. My exercise regimen is not a movable feast that I can shift into an optimal time slot. I jumped to the part in The Times’s story on the study that I always look for in stories of this ilk, the one that assures me that while the study is convincing, the most important thing about exercise for most people is that they do it. There it was, courtesy of Angelo Sabag, an exercise physiologist who led the study: “Whenever you can exercise,” Dr. Sabag said. “That is the answer.”
Here is where I’d like to stop, having determined that any exercise is better than none, and pat myself on the back for doing enough. And I will, for today, because it’s Saturday and I have the luxury of midday exercising and I’m not going to waste it. But I’m trying these days to approach things about myself that seem fixed with more curiosity. So while I jog around the park in the springtime sun, I’m committed to mulling some questions. What is it about the way I approach exercise that fills me with a bit of dread, that makes it a chore rather than a joy or a privilege or at least something I approach with interest? If I wanted to exercise in the evenings, for potential health benefits or just because it might be nice to switch things up, how can I do that in a way that doesn’t feel like punishment?
