I started walking again.
I’ve spent the past month laying on the couch, bleeding, and eating whatever I wanted to comfort myself. I’ve been so worn out and tired that at times I could barely move. I allowed myself time to grieve, to feel sick, to think, but now I need to get moving again. A couple of things spurred me into motion.
First, I planned a birthday party for the huz this past weekend. I didn’t realize the extent of damage three weeks of no-houswork can do to a home until I looked around the morning of the party. I guess I had been so wrapped up in the drama of my own body that I was oblivious to the mess we were living in. I thought it would just take the usual hour of dusting/mopping/vacuuming and we’d be good to go. Nay Nay! I woke up Saturday morning, had a cup of coffee and looked around my home with fresh eyes… I was appalled. It was absolutely FILTHY. There was not one surface that didn’t have sticky handprints. The floors were disgusting. Piles of clutter were breeding and my bathroom made me want to cry. The huz took the three littles out for a while and Hannah and I began to clean. She took care of decluttering/vacuuming and I took care of the rest. I went through each room and washed every wall, cupboard, door, and carpet. I scrubbed until my hands ached.
It took four hours to look presentable. And that was just the downstairs. I haven’t even started on the bedrooms.
Sunday I went to my grandmother’s for her birthday party. While I was there, I noticed she had a scale in her bathroom… And stupidly decided to weigh myself. The results were shocking. I weigh so much more than I thought I did. It bummed me out the rest of the day. But as I was going to bed that night, I started thinking about what I can do to be a healthier person. I can’t do much. I am so far beyond out of shape I don’t even think there is a word for it. Well, actually, there ARE words for what I am- but they are words that I am not capable of thinking about. It has only been a few years since I was finally strong enough to use the word FAT. Now I own it.
I am FAT. See? It doesn’t hurt to say it now.
Anyway. I can’t do much, but I can walk. And I can walk every day. So yesterday I started walking. There is a graveyard two miles away, so I made four miles (there and back again) my goal. I didn’t quite make it, but I was proud of my three mile start. Today I made it all the way there. I had Patrick with me on his new bike, and he was so excited to ride all the way to the graveyard! I knew I couldn’t disappoint him. So I did it!
Four miles in an hour is not too shabby. In fact, its probably damn near a miracle to someone who weighs as much (and is as out of shape) as me. So that is what I am going to do. Walk. Every day that it isn’t raining. It is a good place to start.