I am fifty-one years old and I have been fat and sweaty and breathy for years. I was morbidly obese the last three years. I had long since given up on my body. I tried to exercise, and I did, but I assumed I would never be able to jump or run again. Until now.
Now, I have lost a lot of weight. My bones are emerging. And my breath. And my energy. And the realization that what I thought I'd lost is still inside me jumping rope.
All of my life I have wanted to be a disciplined person. Exercise on a regular schedule. Eat well. Exercise. Feel the burn. Whip and punish my body into shape. Get things done. Whip and punish myself into shape. Eat well. I made my first schedule/chart when I was in high school, on a poster board. I made the schedule, but never followed it.
I have always exercised, sort of. Start and go, go, go. Then stop. Even though I loved it, even though I wanted to do it. The spirit was always willing, but the flesh always balked. This horse preferred to lie down, counter to her nature, counter to all good sense.
Over the years I've read books on nutrition, books on special diets, books on food obsession, books on exercise, books on motivation. But until now, nothing has clicked for very long.
When most people say, "I quit smoking cold turkey," they usually leave out the part where they tried over and over, sometimes for years, to quit. Then, boom! Magic.
My brain is a slow cooker. I ingest and, like the heifers I watched when I was growing up, standing near the fence chewing and chewing and burping and chewing, I ruminate. I marinate. I do not do this consciously.
This is how I write. This is why my writing often seems so automatic, so like magic, so out of the blue, so much like dictation.
This is how I improve myself how I change. I take in ideas, chew on them for years, then suddenly, I find myself moving. I find myself dancing. I find myself, wonder of all wonders, jogging.
Not a lot of jogging, but enough to get me to Rock Creek to be fitted for proper shoes. (of course, buying new shoes is always an excellent idea) Do I intend to become an athlete? No.
I intend to become active, a person who moves, a person who'd rather not sit for hours thank you very much, a person who climbs up and down the attic stairs twice or several times instead of trying to make it all in one trip, stuffing food into my pockets and wobbling up with a plate, a cup, another cup, a fork and oh my what the hell I forgot something damn. it. A person who does her own laundry. A person who gets up and goes. And goes. And keeps going.
How much of me is afraid she will jinx herself by writing about this? Not much, oddly enough. But I will keep you updated.
I am seeing the nutritionist today. Then I will get my ashes. The I will walk into the water and walk and go under and blow out my breath. And go under and blow out my breath. And go under and blow out my breath.