Why I've Given Up Exercise

By Joe Barker

Six months ago, I cycled 1,200 km in seven days and my knees haven't stopped hurting since. This probably doesn't surprise anyone, after all, as an unfit and exhausted parent in his forties, I shouldn't be doing that kind of stupid thing. Yet I loved doing it, and while I was riding along the floodplains of Central Thailand, I felt like I was rediscovering a lost version of myself. Someone who loved nothing more than days of intense exercise, exploring new routes, and devouring improbable quantities of tasty snacks. Of course that feeling of personal rediscovery mainly came from the glorious freedom from the constraints of family life. Unfettered by young children, I once again had time for my own thoughts. 

Those thoughts were mainly daydreams of more cycling in Thailand, epic hill days, and even running ultramarathons again. My legs were hurting, but what did I expect after days of continuous cycling? I'd let them recover and then I would cast-off years of sloth and get serious about exercise again.

These dreams lasted until I arrived home, exhausted and broken, and was immediately hit by little whirlwinds of energy who reminded me of the reality of exercise with children. While my legs were crying out for rest, Marty and Alice wanted to play chase and have piggyback rides. Then there were Marty's commutes to school and Alice's trips to the park. My knees and dreams of structured exercise never stood a chance. 

That's not to say that I've entirely given up exercise, but my children do seem intent on sabotaging my rare forays into sport or fitness. If my wife and I try to play pickleball while Marty has a swimming lesson, he'll escape from the pool and come searching for us, and refuse to get back in the pool until I chase him down and throw him in—one memorable game then had to be abandoned as in my over-enthusiasm I threw myself in after him. Alice, being younger and sneakier, uses more subtle strategies: she'll pretend to be happily playing by the court and then suddenly burst into action, stealing our ball and scurrying, giggling, away from us. This is at least less frustrating than when she was a baby and would wait until I’d reached match point before demanding milk at which point my wife would claim an undeserved draw as racquet sports are apparently impossible while breastfeeding.

If I appear in running kit, both children will immediately decide that they only want to play with me and will cluster round with clutching hands, loving hugs, and enticing invitations to stay home. They know it's hot outside, and that it won't take much to persuade a weak-willed daddy to unlace his shoes and come play; and that is how many runs finish before they’ve even begun. 

Despite sabotaging my own efforts at exercise, my children are obviously concerned that I'm not fit enough and have appointed themselves my personal trainers. Now I enjoy chase more than your average adult, but ten minutes a day would be plenty for me, and the 20 meter circuit of our living room is not my favorite running route. While my children are giggling hysterically, my feet are hurting from the hard wooden floor and the constant cornering makes me dizzy. Crippled by nausea and foot pain I sink to the floor in surrender and am immediately jumped on by two triumphant children who demand we play again. Only, what seems like hours later, when they've exhausted themselves, can I collapse while the room spins around me.

Of course it's not just in the living room that I have to play chase; every trip to the park is an excuse to make daddy run. Marty will ignore the slides and swings in favor of forcing my stiff and aching knees into a shambling creaky run. It's a relief to have a larger circuit to run around, but at my age I really need to ease into exercise rather than suddenly finding myself sprinting after a four-year-old with energy to burn and ligaments that still enjoy sudden changes of direction. To rub salt into the wound, once Marty has exhausted me he'll claim to be too tired to walk and I'll be forced to carry 24 kg of wriggling child home.

Alice isn't yet that heavy, so she insists that I carry her scooter as well as her, just to add a little weight to my training. Naturally she doesn't tell me that's why we're taking the scooter. She rides it quite happily until we're too far from home to return the scooter, then she decides she's had enough and sits and screams in the street until I pick her up.

Obviously all this exercise with the children is better than the alternative: overexcited and restless children running riot round the house. It is the thought of the terrible things that unexercised children do that makes me say yes every time Marty asks to go for a bike ride, and break into a groaning run when Alice starts running round the living room table. I may be an exhausted wreck but at least everyone else is relaxed and content. 

Even when I'm not actively chasing them or carrying them, my children like to ensure that I don't get too much rest. Alice in particular doesn't want me to sit down for long. In fact, watching me stand up appears to be one of her favorite things as no matter how engrossed she is in playing, she's always listening for my involuntary sigh of contentment at sinking into a comfortable seat at which point she'll contrive to bring me, creaking and groaning to my feet: milk needs fetching, balls retrieving, Duplo fixing. Pooping can certainly never be done when I'm standing. Just as I've settled down, she'll come, preceded by an unmistakable odor, to demand a fresh nappy. Once I start to get light-headed from constantly leaping to my feet, I decide to remain standing, until, lulled by her independent play, I ease with a sigh into a chair, then the cries of, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”, immediately ring out and it starts again. 

So despite my love of long cycle rides and ultramarathons, I've had to abandon these two hobbies. I simply don't have the energy to play with my children and do the training that endurance sports require. If I was to try, then I would be constantly saying no to the games that I love to play and I'd be tired and grumpy with them when I want to be patient and present. A younger version of me would never believe that I'd so happily leave behind my favorite activities, but then he didn’t know that playing with Martin and Alice is better than any hobby. 

About the Author 

Joe and his wife Diane moved to Thailand in 2018. Since the arrival of their son Martin in 2021 and daughter Alice in 2024, Joe has been a stay-at-home father. The whole family enjoys BAMBI playgroups and Thai beach holidays. Find Joe on SubStack: BangkokDad bangkokdad.substack.com/