Morning Exercise, Victoria Harbour an... Amanda Hall

For the last several months (since last fall) I have been getting very out of shape.

Not suprisingly, I've found that it takes far less effort to get out of shape than it does to get into shape.

I had been climbing out of that nasty hole called "obesity" with quite a bit of effort, hard work, self-denial, pain, and sweat. Losing weight wasn't this hard when I was younger, I can tell you that much (back then I just had to stop eating ice cream for a few weeks, and I magically became my ideal weight. I miss that!). I had achevied my first goal of no longer being called clinically obese, though if I weighed what their charts say I should weigh, you'd be able to count my ribs. Then, I stopped working on it...partly after injuring my shoulder again post surgery (note to self: don't use a weed whacker too soon after a shoulder replacement), partly after having pneumonia, and partly watching my in-laws deteriorate with Alzheimers.

The last one took away all of my motivation. I found myself asking, "What would be the point in wanting to live a long life if that means losing my mind or watching my husband lose his mind, and become like that?" After you've watching people deteriorate with Alzheimers, growing old becomes something you fear. Every person in my husband's family over the age of 65 has Alzheimers. That's a scary, horrible thought. Alzheimers is an evil disease that completely destroys who the person is, but leaves the body intact (if they were in good health before). Someone suggested I was suffering from depression. Cynicism is more like it.

Then, after the cynicism or depression (or both) wears off, you are left with your very overweight body that hasn't exercised in months, and lungs -- due to pneumonia and lack of exercise -- don't have the same capacity that they had when I was working out every day, and you have to try to retrain your brain to crave apple slices, carrot sticks, and grapes instead of chocolate-covered espresso beans. I had fallen back into the previous habit of skipping breakfast and many times lunch, feasting only on coffee all day long until dinner, and not drinking nearly enough water. I'll never understand how skipping meals makes me gain weight, but it does.

I realized I needed to make myself start exercising when all of my fat clothes became too tight. I had given away most of my old clothes that were really huge, but I kept some of the larger-sized clothes that I wore in transition. Good thing.

For the last two weeks, I've made a valiant and somewhat pathetic effort at exercising every morning. I say pathetic only because my body does not have the same flexibility it had this time last year, several years into regular pilates. I'm back to using my 1 1/2 lb weights instead of the 8 pound weights, and I had to take some of the weight out of my adjustable ankle weights too. I try to walk a mile every day, but most days I am beet red and struggling for breath after a half a mile. How does 8 months make everything go back to the way it used to be? I'm not sure.

This morning, I not only worked out and drank water all day long, but I also ate breakfast (apples and grapes, not bacon), and spent over an hour weeding in the garden before I had to come in to catch my breath from the heat.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with just one step...