Walking the Walk
Okay, we’re proud of our generation, proud of ourselves for being young, being active. But can we be honest here? Our bodies ain’t necessarily what they used to be. Leigh Anne-Jasheway-Bryant is doing something about it. She’s Walking the Walk!
I recently won pedometer as a door prize. Needless to say, I was thrilled. The only thing I’d rather have won is a scale that announces my body fat out loud. “You have the body fat of a gray whale. Have fun with your migration.”
But curiosity got the best of me and I decided to hook the pedometer on the pocket of my jeans to see if maybe, just maybe, I was way more fit that I’d led myself to believe. After all, I thought hopefully, it’s possible that I jog two miles every night in my sleep. So for a whole day, I had a little digital reminder of the distance I traveled not only in miles, but also in kilometers. I felt downright bilingual one day when I’d gone about a mile but someone at work asked me how far I’d gone and I’d answer “1.17 kilometers!” Take it from me, always answer in the metric system because it will sound like you’ve gone so much further. Even if I’m not getting enough exercise, I thought, I am learning something new -– how to use the metric system to fool people into believing I’m more athletic than I really am. Anything that furthers your education can’t be all bad.
A weird thing happened the next day. I got up and saw the pedometer on my bureau and thought to myself, “I bet yesterday was an anomaly. I probably go a lot further on an average day.” Besides, I hadn’t really measured all the steps I’d taken. It’s fourteen steps from the bed to the shower and I often do a little jig when I’m conditioning my hair. All that hadn’t been counted! So I stuck the device on my robe and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast.
“You’re wearing that thing again?” my hubby asked suspiciously.
I thought I’d shake him up a bit. “Yeah, I’ve got a half marathon this afternoon and wanted to make sure the course was measured properly.”
We both laughed enough to snort Cheerios through our nose. Unfortunately the pedometer wasn’t able to measure that. Both hubby and I knew that even if I had accidentally lapsed back into running -– which I used to do a long, long time ago in a land far, far away -– I’d do it in the house where I could stay dry and my hair wouldn’t poof up like Helen Bonham Carter’s hair in, well, every movie she’s ever made.
I felt very healthy walking around the kitchen cleaning the counters, putting away the breakfast supplies, with the pedometer clicking away. By the time I got to the bathroom for my shower and make-up, I’d already walked 83 steps. And did you know that if you shift your weight from foot to foot while applying mascara, you can tally up extra distance? Of course, you may poke yourself in the eyeball like I did, but you have to expect a little pain with your exercise program.
By about four o’clock, I had already walked as far as the whole previous day. I was so excited I decided to set a goal. I wanted the thing to turn over 3.0001 kilometers. Don’t ask why the extra .0001. Chalk it up to the overachiever in me.
I didn’t really need anything from the grocery store on the way home that day, but I thought walking around from aisle to aisle would help me come closer to my goal, so off I went. While I stood in line waiting to check out, I kind of marched in place. Sure, the other patrons thought I was a little odd, but not as odd as that whole practicing to be a swimsuit model thing I’d tried out in line the previous week. And as I made dinner later that night, I intentionally “forgot” ingredients, so I’d have to keep going back to the pantry. I discovered that the distance from my pantry to my stove is two steps or .0003 kilometers.
After a week, the pedometer became permanently attached to me, like a new digital appendage. Lately I’ve been walking over five miles. That’s right, I’ve started counting in miles; telling people how far I’ve gone in kilometers just seems cruel, like I’m holding it over them. I wear my pedometer everywhere these days. Although a few nights ago, my husband asked me to take it off my nightgown when I got in bed. I did, but I snuck it back on after he started to snore. After all, I still need to see how far I jog in my sleep.
(C) 2008 Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant
Category: Boomer Lifestyle
