Grateful April in the A-Z Blogging Challenge
On the road again.
For the first time in my son’s professional baseball career he is on a team we
can get to without a 5-hour plane ride and $2,000 in expenses, so on nights he
pitches, you can bet that we drive the three hours to see it. That’s where I
found myself last night. I had six hours in the car to think about my “H” post.
As I munched sugary
car ride goodies and sucked down a giant coffee while sitting nearly motionless
for eight hours, I knew exactly what my “H” would be. Health.
Despite my total
lack of discipline yesterday followed by a kamikaze-like attack of a “mama meal”
at 9 o-clock at night, I really do think about my health. A lot.
I was conditioned
young to think about health. My sixth grade P.E. teacher bribed her students to
run a 6-minute mile. If we did, she would treat us to a milkshake from
McDonald’s. Irony aside, it worked. Four of us managed to do it, jeans and all,
and enjoyed our shakes while the loafers enjoyed watching.
In junior high, that
same teacher persuaded us to run track, infusing so much excitement into winning
that a small group of us decided to “train” (we thought we were such jocks)
outside of school hours by running around our neighborhood on Saturday mornings.
We felt very athletic. This behavior carried over to high school track, though,
and I made a habit of getting up early to run, right up until I was 19 years
old.
And then, marriage
and kids.
It didn’t happen
right away—the extra pounds, the muffin top, the complete disregard for my
figure, pants size, floppy underarms or cholesterol level. The pounds snuck on like weeds in a flowerbed;
one or two at first, and before I knew it, my once immaculately manicured
landscape was littered with lumpy, bumpy, unattractive invaders.
I began to blame my
body changes on the mirrors in Ross dressing rooms. Bad lighting, that was it.
When my pant size went up again, my best friend convinced me that manufacturers
were to blame; hadn’t I noticed that sizes didn’t fit the same as when we were
younger? Manufacturers were making clothes smaller now. That must be it! They
were running a conspiracy to make women feel fat. Great
plan.
My problem certainly wasn’t
that every Sunday I’d eat an entire box of Raisinetts and bowl of popcorn while
watching NASCAR on the couch for four hours. My new figure could not be the
result of cheeseburgers, French fries, and nightly ice cream or cookies. Looking
back, I’d guess my daily caloric intake to be about 3,000 in those days while my
exercise had gone to zero.
The turning point
came at a baseball game many years ago. My brother-in-law complimented my new
figure, saying how nice it was that I was finally filling out and turning into a
woman. I was only 32. The remark caused me to look at myself through his eyes,
and I finally saw what I had chosen to ignore: I had let myself go.
The changes didn’t
come overnight. It took a few more years of discipline and exercise with plenty
of failed attempts. Eventually, I realized that my attitude about my health had
to change; I began to see healthy living as a lifestyle, not a
chore.
I’m still not
perfect. I hate drinking water… and I do experience episodes like last night
where I absolutely fail at self-control. But unlike the past, it’s only a
one-day fail; I’ll be back on the Spin bike tonight, and not just because I
want a slender figure. Today, I have different
motivation.
I want a healthy
body. I was blessed with good health, good organs, blood to donate, eyes that
see, and legs that move me, and I’d like to show some appreciation. There may
come a day when I’m not so lucky.
Labels: A-Z Blogging Challenge
