At 7 in the morning recently, while my tea was steeping, I was on the rug in front of the stove doing that exercise where you extend one arm and the opposite leg out into space, change sides then repeat.

My husband barked a tiny laugh and said, “You look like Ultraman.”

“But with one arm at a time,” I replied between thrusts, “or I’d fall flat on my face.”

Falling flat on my face is a fairly accurate metaphor for exercising in middle age, okay, somewhat late middle age. Okay, okay, my somewhat late middle age. There are people that exercise proportionately, with purpose and moderation. I don’t seem to be one of them.

Trial and ‘owie’ is my process, which, truth be told, does have more pathos than ‘Trial and error.’  I get all excited and jump into whatever I decide it will be this season with too much enthusiasm, too-heavy weights, too many reps, over and over again. 

I ran for 7 years, upwards of 15 miles per week, and lost not one pound. I did feel great and loved flying over logs and curbs. Eventually, whether in glee or mutiny, even the cartilage in my knees began to fly about.

Then, I took up swimming. For eight months, I swam for an hour five mornings a week at 5:30 am until I could no longer feel my right hand. Note to self, form is a thing.

Lately, I decided to try the RBG workout book.  The woman is 80. I was going to crush it, and did until I took the very small dumbbells through too many flying side lifts. Six months later, I can finally lift heavy objects with my left arm.  Poor things get so little credit, the undominant limbs.  Note to self, you get to be 80 partly by learning what not to so.

There is a colloquialism about crazy being defined as doing the same thing again and again, but expecting different outcomes. I am aware of this.

Whatever.

Now I’m onto a new thing. Feeling good is the new black. If you don’t feel good, everything goes to shit, so this seems like a winner.

The writers of the slogan for the 1960s Ultraman series didn’t go to a great deal of effort.

“Ultraman, Ultraman, here he comes from the sky, Ultraman, Ultraman, watch our hero fly. In a super jet he comes from a billion miles away from a distant planet land comes our hero Ultraman.”

I think there’s something to be learned from it.

Don’t overdo.

5 lb weights are not too small.

Watch your step and do something.

Every. Single. Day.

Be kind, even to yourself.

If you’re like me, and I hope to God some of you are, you’ll soon get a burst of enthusiasm to save at least your world by being a bit fitter. You’ve got every right to envision yourself as Ultraman.

Whole cities adore him for saving them from various unexpected giant reptilian villains. Your work mates will probably be happy you’re feeling better, or at least relieved you’re not moaning around the place.

Doing little bits of exercise while waiting for the water to boil or the tea to steep may be just the limitation I need to avoid being carried away. I’m good with it.