I enjoy science. It’s the numbers, I think, the statistics and standard deviations, all lining up nicely and pointing with blinking arrows at a sparkly conclusion. Sure, numbers can screw you but in general, science is all about the dispassionate actual concrete facts. I appreciate that now in a way I wish I could have latched onto 30 years ago, because it would have made 8th grade earth science bearable.
And I know in my heart that exercise works. That it’s good for you. That it makes you stronger and healthier and might just also reduce the size of my ass. I know this. But sometimes I also spend weeks walking nowhere on a moving belt, cranking up the playlists and trying not to sing “Sexy Back” to myself, and yet, the scale? Not so much. It’s like a religion. You don’t know for sure that there is a God, you just have to have faith. And sometimes it’s hard to continue to cruise on faith, not when you’re sweaty and people are looking at you and the couch and Tivo look oh so appealing. Faith starts to look a little weak. I try to think about the Apostle Paul, walking to Damascus and instead, get really pissed off at myself because he didn’t even have super awesome fitness shoes and he still managed to get that shit done. I’ll bet he didn’t have to deal with post-holiday bulge either.
So when I see something like “Scientifically proven ways to burn more fat when you exercise”, I have to admit, I am a little excited! Science! Pretty numbers! Proof! Men in white coats, measuring asses or something. This is what I imagine, anyway. And then I read the facts and oh my god, think happy
thoughts of fat loss? Buy a heart monitor and watch your heart rate?
Use a mofo house fan? Brilliant! Easy! And also, scientific!
Apparently it takes an army of men in white coats to inspire me to get a treadmill, but damn it, whatever works.
