Journey of 10,000 steps

I wish everything was as easy as gaining weight.

Seriously, I am the only person I know who can literally gain five pounds overnight because of a rogue crouton the was hidden under a piece of ranch drenched romaine.

But there has been a lot of those pesky hidden breadcrumbs over the last few years and I have gotten quite pudgy.

It’s one of those things that creeps up on you. Or in my case, you realize you’ve put on a few pounds but have every intention of getting the weight off as soon as some holiday passes.

Then, you look at the calendar and realize your husband and Mama have their birthdays just days apart, so there will be cake – twice.

Even though I may not see Mama on her birthday, I still want to celebrate.

And then the child’s birthday is right there at the beginning of October, which kicks off candy month.

It has been four years of finding reasons to put my regular, formally healthier way of eating on hiatus.

Did I mention I have suspected celiac or at least some kind of severe gluten intolerance that should make me avoid anything that tastes good?

Over the last four years, I have not only gained weight, I have always pretty much spent most of my days sitting on my tater.

Throw in the fact my hormones are all out of whack and guess what you’ve got?
A middle-aged woman wearing a lot of leggings, that’s what you’ve got.

I knew I was no longer fitting in my former smaller sized clothing, but I didn’t realize how out of shape I had gotten.

Not that I was running triathlons or anything before, but I was a bit more active.

I walked a few times a week at the park and did yoga, even though I usually fell asleep on the yoga mat with my Border Collie more than anything else.

Sitting for the majority of your day for four years takes it toll.

Apparently, it is as bad for your health as smoking, something I gave up several years ago and promptly gained five pounds.

When I started my new job several months ago, I was worried about having to walk two flights of stairs.

Yes, there is an elevator.

It’s at the other end of the hall where I go in and I am too lazy to walk that far to get on it. And elevators have always freaked me out a little bit, too.

My biggest nightmare was finally getting to the landing and having to have an actual conversation with someone.

I was grossly out of shape.

One of my dear friends who has supported my fluctuations in weight had encouraged me that having stairs in my work place would be a sure- fire way for me to lose the weight.

Not if the only reason you are going up and down the stairs is to get to the candy bowl on a friend’s desk downstairs.

I didn’t lose weight; I thankfully didn’t gain either, despite the frequent trips for bite sized 3 Musketeers and Almond Joys.

And then, something serendipitous happened.

We had a FitBit Challenge.

I am not competitive with other people, but I do love having a goal for myself.

Since I clearly didn’t reach the 10,000 recommended steps a day, I was worried I would be able to do this.

The first day, I had under 5,000 steps.

Same the second day, but I did notice I got more steps in when I went to the grocery store, especially when I was on one side of the store and realized I needed something that was on the other end.

“I’m sore and I barely walked half of what I am supposed to,” I whined.

I didn’t really get much empathy.

Then, a miraculous thing happened on Day 3.

I decided I needed to do some cleaning, rare, I know.

Within a few hours, I had racked up quite a few steps.

It motivated me to keep going until, the little wristband erupted in fireworks, telling me I had met my goal of 10,000 steps.

“I will be skinny tomorrow!” I squealed.

More than likely it won’t be tomorrow. But the journey there begins with the first 10,000 steps.

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Not for the faint of heart

I remember the day I turned 29.

It was 16 years ago – yikes, that’s hard to believe.

But the day I turned 29, I took the day off from work.

I worked out twice that day, hoping to fight off the effects of gravity and the aging process.

I didn’t even eat any birthday cake, something I never skipped.

I grieved.

It was my last year in my twenties.

I felt ancient, as if my youth and life were over.

I was about to enter a new decade, my thirties.

Little did I know those years would fly by in the blink of an eye.

I went through a divorce, got remarried, had a baby, moved a couple of times, and went through about 4 different career changes.

No wonder by the time I hit my 40’s I was exhausted.

My spunk and sass seemed to have been replaced with, “Eh, it’s not worth the energy fighting over.”

Blasphemous talk for one who is a quarter Irish.

“Cole, when I was younger, I would have….”
I recount tales of my younger hot-tempered responses and how I stood up fiercely for myself and for others.

Now, I just hope to avoid any disagreements, so I don’t have to worry about it for days on end.

The aging process has not only affected my emotional response but my physical as well.

Remember when Dolly Parton declared, “Time’s marching on, and eventually you realize, it’s marching across your face?”

Yeah, well, Truvy got that one right.

She just left out the battlefield extended in all directions.

The other day in the bathroom, I saw not one, not two, but four grey hairs sticking up from the midst of a field of black, dark brown, and whatever other colors are mixed in there.

I screamed.

These had popped up overnight.

The greys could and would be covered with some liberal painting of color at my next appointment.

An easy fix, I told myself.

But some of the other things were not so easy.

For one thing, the few pounds I would gain from too much cheesecake no longer come off as quickly as they previously did.

Just five short years ago, I could just skip my afternoon bag of M&M’s and drop whatever weight I had gained.

Now, I am still struggling to lose the weight I gained three years ago.

“Once you are over 40, you will find it’s not so easy to lose that weight,” Mama informed me one day.

I told her I was already learning that.

“So, you may want to lay off the cheesecake. And the candy. I know you think they are their own food group.”

I groaned my disapproval of her advice.

“Your body is going through some changes now that you may not like and may be embarrassing, so you need to pay attention to what you eat and do.”
I was in my mid-40’s and finally, my Mama was giving me the talk about my changing body.

And as much as I hate to admit it, she was right.

“I have cut out everything that tastes good and you want to know how much I have lost?” I asked one day.

“How much?” a friend asked.

“I gained 2 pounds. Two pounds! And I think I pulled something trying to squeeze into my imitation Spanx.”

“Honey, how old are you now…?”

No response was necessary.

To add insult to injury, as if eating kale and gaining weight with multiple greys dotting my hairline were not enough, I had something else happen.

Adult acne.

As a teenager, I somehow dodged a bullet and had clear skin.

Maybe Mother Nature thought I had enough going against me and told pimples to find another canvas to land.

But here I was, trying to figure out which cream, gel or serum to apply first: wrinkle cream, lifting cream, brightening gel, or acne treatment. And vitamin C treatment. Did you know you face needs vitamins, too? It does.

“Maybe you put too much gunk on your face? Could that be it?” Lamar asked, watching me slather various things on my face one morning.

“Given the fact that middle aged women seem to blame everything on our hormones, that’s mighty brave talk for a skinny man to use,” I warned.

He got the hint and went into hiding until later that day.

But the real kicker was even more painful than the esthetic issues I was experiencing.

“It’s going to rain today,” I announced one morning.

“Weatherman on TV said it is going to be clear,” Lamar said over his coffee.

“I don’t care what they said, it’s going to rain; maybe snow.”

“What makes you think that?” Lamar asked.
“The way my neck is hurting, it is going to do something. Trust me. I may not have Doppler, but I have a neck that lets me know.”
“Good lord, you are not old enough to start sounding like Granny.”

Guess what?

Around 3 p.m. that afternoon, it started sleeting.

“Told you,” I said. “My neck knows.”

This getting older thing is not for the faint of heart.

But, it sure beats the alternative.