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The quest for fitness
Almost fifteen years ago I told all y’all I had joined a gym. For the record, I’m still a member. At that time, I’d reached an all time record “high” and an all time record “low”. I had achieved the highest weight I’d ever been, including my pregnant-with-elevenpound- babies weight. And, without a doubt I was at my lowest level of fitness, ever. I had more excuses for my highs and lows than the number of buttons in my Mom’s fruitcake tin. I am hypothyroid which made me fat, right. Hypothyroidism made me sluggish. I had children who had children and that was added to my list of excuses. I told myself I was too old. I was, most definitely, too busy. I was always too tired. I didn’t have gym clothes. I didn’t have gym shoes. I hated shaving my legs and I didn’t like wearing gym shorts. My boobs bounced when I worked out (but, I wasn’t working out). My flabby arms jiggled. I had a spare tire or two. My heart beat too fast when I climbed stairs and that couldn’t be a good thing. I had indigestion after every meal. And, you know you can’t workout if you have indigestion. I’d learned that most doctors don’t like to point out the obvious like a weight problem nor do they like to dispense dietary advice. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why that is. However, my chronic indigestion made me a candidate for a number of tests and eventually elicited a suggestion to use an OTC to quell the burn. No one ever mentioned the crap I was eating even asked about my diet or lifestyle. And, since I was an avid cyclist, I thought that would just about covered the “get fit” issue. I thought I was fit-fat and coaxed myself into believing it was “okay”.
When I started grumbling “manufacturers who didn’t know what a size twelve really looks like” I sorta, kinda knew I was just delusional. I was a tricky gal when it came to my lifestyle, you know. When I was along I often wondered what the H E double hockey sticks had I done to myself? And one day I had a serious chat with myself. I was the only one to blame for the shape I was in – round. I vowed to stop revelling in my physical state of unhealthiness. I had been wallowing. I stopped believing it was the price I had to pay for being “older”. The wake up started with a photograph of myself, taken during an epic bike trip. A trip which covered the distance from Brockville to Picton. Cycling always made me feel strong and in control. In my mind’s eye, I was a svelte dynamo, yet the image I saw wasn’t anything of the sort. Holy Snickers Bars for vim and vigour. The image made me sad. I started reading about physical fitness and healthy eating but it took me almost a year to do something about it.
So, much to my surprise (and yours too, I’ll bet), here I am. I’m almost fifteen years into my quest for fitness, strength and health and I’m still learning. I no longer think if I loose 30 or forty pounds, then I can put “paid” to that bill. I see fitness and strength as an everyday item on my to do list. I’ve learned to eat clean (most of the time) and train dirty (all of the time). My workouts, and walking, have become a regular a part of my lifestyle. I’m strong. I’m fit. I’m happy. I still have children. I still have grandchildren. I have more gym clothes than “street” clothes. “PlayDri” is my new friend. I still don’t like wearing shorts but, that’s just me. I’m not afraid of sports tights, tank tops and sweat bands. I’m still hypothyroid. Ain’t nothing I can do about it but I don’t use as an excuse. Indigestion is a thing of the past. My spare tire isn’t Mack Truck sized and when I sit around the house, I don’t really “sit around the house”.
A decade and a half and I’m getting ready to sing “Happy Anniversary” to me. I’m proud of myself and look forward to the next fifteen years! If you’re thinking what I’m thinking I want to know, “Why are you sitting around the house?”. Be a work in progress. Get real about your lifestyle and ask yourself if it’s working for you. I’m no longer looking for a swimsuit body. I’m looking for functional fitness, improved health and living my best life.
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