…that yesterday’s power walk, all 20 minutes of it, is the change that I have been needing.
That Black Eyed Peas song was humming in my ears as I hoofed it up North Street yesterday mid-day on my first real power walk in months. I hate writing that. I have always been a gym rat. Exercise was huge for me. That is, until I got pregnant, and couldn’t muster energy to get up at 5:00 and head to the Y. Which I used to do EVERY DAY (“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday…”) for five years.
Like many breastfeeding toddlers, my daughter wakes up 2-3 times a night. I don’t usually get more than a few hours sleep at a time so getting up at 5:00 am is an impossibility. But I’ve been out of sorts recently: anxious over small things, not sleeping well and feeling a lot of tight pain in my hips. I always knew that my daily gym jaunts were key self-care (“I feel stress and I wanna let it go,”) but when you’re tired those past lessons learned sometimes slip from your memory like water in the hand. After another poor night’s sleep, I resolved that I would start walking again.
(“Let’s do it and do it and do it, do it, do it…”) YES, I say to that sentiment. Even as I listen to that song as I write this, my hamstrings feel tingly. I love it. It’s a feeling that I can almost taste. The iPod music, my elliptical co-pilot, has resurfaced like an old friend at the airport. Listening to those songs is like coming home, somehow. Coming home to some piece of me that has been missing, like eyeglasses that you somehow forgot that you wear. When you put them on, the fuzzy black and white becomes a deliciously sharp sparkle of colors and shapes.
My goal is to walk every other day (usually when E. is sleeping and F. is home) and to take in at least one yoga class a week. I’d like to get back to the gym in the New Year because I know that once I re-start, I get addicted fast. That’s my assumption anyway. Will it be the reality 2+ years later? Stick around and find out. You know I’ll tell you.