It’s spring in New York, and the trees are vibrantly green – which can mean only one thing: time for my annual week-long obsession with exercise.
My history in this area is completely consistent, in that it is reliably unimpressive and rooted in delusion. Over the past 10 years, I have leaned heavily on the phrase “structural exercise” to prop up my belief that I’m in good shape. I run around all day (for which read: back and forth between school drop-off and pickup, with a solid eight hours in a chair in between) and occasionally lift weights in a desultory fashion. Beyond that, I’m prone and staring at my phone.