Unhappy Feet

As I started to ready myself for my mini-getaway this weekend, I thought I had better pack some good walking shoes. This trip originated because I asked my friend, who is a newly certified personal trainer, if she would like to take on the challenge of being my personal trainer. Thus, our plans were set in motion.

Since that time, I have thought about trying to become more active. 

My handyman donated an exercise bike and left it in the garage for me. Too bad it is too heavy for me to move inside, otherwise I'm sure I would have jumped right on that (NOT!!).

I have researched (once) a good exercise regimen for a beginner. I didn't even get to the videos. The mere act of looking up the information was too exhausting for me.

I thought I should take up walking in the morning in lieu of writing. I want to quit my columns before I do that. The onus of "having to write" keeps me feeling committed to this quiet writing time in the morning.

I have thought a lot of thoughts. But I haven't done a thing. 

I wear out easily these days. I'm quite certain that has a lot to do with the fact that I don't push myself any more. If I'm tired, I quit. If I'm bored, I quit. If I'm frustrated, I quit. I quit before I start something. I have turned into such a quitter.

Why has this happened?

My last noble attempt at physical fitness was taking on a flyer route. I pushed myself, thinking it was for the better good. But I pushed myself in the wrong ways. I carried too many papers at a time because I didn't want to waste time coming back home to reload. I think I compacted the discs in my spine. My back hasn't been the same since the Year of the Flyer Route. Winter was terrible on my thumbs. The repetitive action of always having a paper in each hand seemed to "lock" my thumbs and I now have arthritis in my thumbs. 

I thought my "symptoms" would disappear after I quit that job. It has been three years now and I can still feel the lingering effects.

I used to have a passion for "Zumba". Then I started getting corns on my toes. The only effective way I found to get rid of those corns was to go to a podiatrist. My podiatrist quit and I searched high and low for another one who could accommodate my work schedule. Not only could I not find one, every single place I called had at least a two month waiting list. There was no "squeezing me in" during my summer holiday last year. Needless to say, I booked an appointment well in advance of this year's summer holiday.

When your feet don't work, you are in trouble. So I started babying my feet. These are the only two feet I have and we have a lot more miles to travel.

I quit dancing for many reasons, but the last time I wore my dance shoes was "it". My feet ached before I took my first step on the dance floor. Every single step was pure torture.

I quit exercising for many reasons. Two of them were my feet. Then there was the knee thing that started happening while I was addicted to my WiFit program. Not to mention the shoulder thing that I went to physiotherapy to "fix" and after I did the prescribed exercises wrong, I messed up my neck. It has never fully recovered.

I'm afraid to push my body for fear that I will break it. My body isn't fixing itself the way it used to and it frightens me a little bit. It is a double edged sword. I need to get my body moving and more physically fit, to ensure it lasts until my work here is done. I need to push my limits, but when I have done so in the past I have injured myself in minor ways. 

This has been my excuse for too long now. When I write a letter to my future self, I want to tell her "I hope you jumped on the physical fitness train and got yourself moving again!" I have been too complacent for too long. Enough is enough already.

I found a pair of running shoes from my Zumba days and parked them beside the back door. I will pack up my shoes and take them for a spin. I will talk with my very own Personal Trainer and ask for her advise. "How does a worn out body begin again?"

I stepped into my fiftieth year full of pep, ambition and desire to push my limits. I'm half way through this decade and I feel like half the person I was at the onset. I plan to write a letter to my sixty year old self and tell her what I hope she has accomplished between now and then.

I stopped and took a look at the shoes I have amassed by the back door this morning. This is ridiculous. I have a new and used version of my two pairs of "go to shoes" for all occasions. I have slip on shoes for when I run outside for a minute. I pulled out my sandals that accommodate my orthotics because recently my bunions have been aching at the end of a day in bare feet and sandals. This is what I found: 

Me, the girl who scoffs at those who "need a closet for their shoes" in all the home renovation shows needs her very own "shoe storage system"! 

It's time to get moving again and wear out a pair of shoes for all the right reasons. I hope my feet are up to the challenge.