Self-care

Yesterday, I tried something new. I began in earnest an effort to eliminate (or at least minimize) some of the sedentary flab I've accumulated over the last three years. Sitting in a chair studying, rather than chasing children on a playground or tromping around a continuous caster-- common activities from my past-- has not been conducive to keeping in shape.

I've been in the habit (well, more or less) of walking in the mornings-- something necessitated by back surgery, several years ago. So step one is committing to doing that more consistently.

Secondly, I stopped in this little fitness place I've been driving past for years, and discovered that they offer three free sessions with a personal trainer, as part of the way to convince folks to become regular customers. "Free" works for me, so my first session was yesterday. And it went well, I thought-- not too taxing at all...

Then I woke up this morning. Stiff. Very stiff. "What-were-you-thinking-you-are-nowhere-near-seventeen-anymore-you-crazy-woman" stiff.

Now, as much as the thought distressed me, I know the only answer to that sort of soreness is to move; so I did-- got up and diligently did my walk around the neighborhood. And it helped. The hobble I began with, turned into almost normal movement by the time I got back.

Yes, I'm going back. Obviously I need this.

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Saturday morning addenedum: Can I just share with you that I also did some desperately needed weeding and hedge trimming yesterday? And that has not contributed to my comfort level in the slightest. My body is not my friend. It is mean, and cranky, and unreasonable, and we are not getting along. Whine.

Nonetheless, we are out of bed because the boys left for a camping trip at o-dark-hundred this morning. And we will go walk, darn it.

But we won't like it. Grumble. Pout.