is waking up one morning, brushing my teeth, finishing my morning exercise routine, showering and dressing only then to realize that, for the first time in my entire life (I say entire, but the first three years are pretty fuzzy) my thighs no longer touch when I walk. What an incredible life moment. I think of all the people I could call at six am who would find this interesting and can think of no one. I think of all the people I could text who would find this amazing and again, I can think of no one. Facebook? No, not really the kind of thing people want to read about first thing in the morning. Twitter? Again, TMI at such an early hour. So what do I do? Blog about it, of course.
Unless you have been there, overweight, I mean, there is really no way to find excitement in the fact that you can walk without the “shhhh … shhhh … shhhh” of your legs rubbing together. It’s hard to describe the beauty of the moment when that is no longer an issue. I’ve struggled, as long as I can remember, with my weight. A couple of years ago, though, I decided that enough was enough. I started exercising and going on hikes, which, since I always had my camera along, renamed “trail shoots”. As the weeks and months passed, the trail shoots became more difficult and arduous, requiring strength of body and mind in order to complete. It was better than Sudoku for my brain and made me feel strong and (nearly) invincible.
As the pounds fell away, well, that is really pure nonsense as they didn’t fall away but took effort, a great deal of effort actually, hard work and self-control, I found myself even more motivated. First 25 pounds, then 50, then 80 and, to date, 96 pounds have been shed. Self-control is not my strong suit so implementing that was more work than I anticipated. As I learned to control my physical condition, however, it spilled over into other aspects of my life. It is, after all, one of the fruits of the Spirit and something that I wanted to master. I haven’t mastered it completely but feel that I have, in the words of the old Virginia Slims commercials, “come a long way, baby”.
A recent injury to my shoulder has inhibited my ability to hike to the difficult places I like to go, so I have had to increase my efforts at home. I hate exercise as much as the next person; the repetitions encouraged by the ridiculously toned, way too blonde, much too excited to be doing crunches individual who happens to be on the video I am following, but until I am able to resume the weekend jaunts that leave me feeling strong, toned and energized, I have little choice but to endure them. Yoga has also become a new pursuit. I find that, while I am quite flexible, I have a long way to go before I can fold myself into a box and be happy about it. And Yoga, while it may seem to be a simple form of exercise, is actually quite strenuous and requires a great deal of concentration and focus, neither of which come easy to me. At times, I find my enthusiasm lacks what is required to do it regularly and then I remember just what, once I am able to contort myself into a pretzel, I will be able to accomplish. As I sit here this evening gazing at the lights on my Christmas tree, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment, I think of what is yet to come and all I can think is that, in my heart of hearts I know; I. Can. Do. This.