Pam's Gym or Glover's Gulag?

We all know regular exercise is important. But some of us just don’t like it.

My friends go to the gym and work out on treadmills, weight machines, and stationary bikes. I have chosen an at-home method. I garden. 

Since I need my husband's help, he says he has a free membership at Pam’s Gym.

In the spring season there is lots of shovel and rake work, good upper body training. That moves seamlessly into high gear weeding and mulching--all that standing and stooping is good for legs. We really gear up in the summer when we "work out" for three to four hours a day. 

Ours is not a city lot smaller than a tennis court. We have two acres. It's big enough for a baseball diamond. And don't think weed eaters, riding lawn mowers, mini-tractors and gas-powered hedge trimmers. We do things the hard way around here.  

My work crew inside and out.

Last September we dug up over 100 day lilies from a plot that had turned ugly. By the time we hoed, raked, seeded for grass and covered it with straw my hubbie claimed he was forced labor in the Glover Gulag.

Our goal isn't a 10K run or tennis match. Unlike the Scottish games where work has evolved into sport--like throwing hammers, rocks, and logs, gardening doesn't have competitions for straightest rows planted, or fastest pea-picking. Even if there were dirt work-out contests, say distributing mulch, I’d lose to my friend Sue who can shovel, tote, and spread nine scoops of mulch in a week-end. 

I may not have an opportunity to come in first (or second or third)--no ribbons, no little gold trophies. But I win big when I cook up fresh veggies grown and harvested by me and my one-man chain gang.