I recognize all too well that post-rape/abuse/bullying response, the acceptance of what the “Well, what were you wearing at the time?” or “Well, you’re just so pretty, what did you expect?” responses because you desperately need to make sense of the whole thing, to understand why this happened, and they always ask those questions with such authority. It takes a long time – and I mean a l-o-n-g time – to figure out that without a doubt, you were not to blame, so now, decades later, I begin to appreciate and applaud and adorn this body that for far too long I’ve treated as a head rack.
But no more. My clock is ticking, you see, and each tick can put me closer to death OR each tick can put me closer to living the life I want to live. I get to choose, and I choose what’s behind door #2.
My son gave me a fitbit last Christmas, and last week I finally started feeding the thing (and feeding it well), walking 74,636 steps (which translates into 32.11 miles) and climbed 40 flights of stairs – all in these cute shoes that my friend Jeanie introduced me to. One day I walked 23,299 steps, and though I slept real good that night, nothing ached – not my feet, not my ankles, not my legs – not once. These shoes are much more incredible than they look.
I’ve set a goal of 10k steps a day, and (so far) I get my steps in come hell or high water. I’m staying with my daughter this week, and I get the last 3-4k steps in every night by walking up and down the driveway while tucking my husband in. Last Friday night I went to the grocery store at 11 p.m. and walked the aisles till I met my quota mites before turing into a pumpkin. I walk ruts in the floor at my son’s house last week and at my daughter’s house this week, going up and down and down and up the halls.
I’m feeling better, eating less, and looking forward to going shopping for new clothes without hearing other shoppers whisper things like “Who do you think you are looking at that color or that youthful cut?” or my personal favorite “Do you really think that will fit you? Bahahahahahahaha” . . . and so on. They don’t say these things out loud, of course, but I have special hearing, you see, so I know what they’re saying and thinking.
Yes, all this walking to nowhere takes time out of my already full-to-the-busting-point life, but the funny thing is, when I make the effort to live a balanced life that includes things like walking and writing and stitching, time bends to make room for all the parts to fit in the space of a day. Magic. My friend Angela has a treadmill desk, and I see one in my future, too. Thanks to my special hearing, I hear them say “Obsessed. You’re downright obsessed.” But me? I say Nah, I’m dedicated and committed, and there’s a difference.
Delights from today’s 10,000 steps include . . .
a rusty thing that’s going home with me:
and a pink caddy wall shelf (that’s also going home with me because it begged and I was weak):]
a leisure suit with a ruffled, big-collared shirt (that are NOT going home with me because I was stronger by then):
and this peaceful eye full that I’ll just have to lust after because orange just isn’t my color:
You bought the shelf! ~laughing~
So glad you are walking your own path!
well, I’m walking, at least. X
Thanks for sharing what it’s like to walk in your shoes. Exercise clears my mind and feeds my creativity too.
Shakes things up. Prevents moss and cobwebs.