I have realized on this vacation that I love water. This love runs deeper than just watching rolling waves or water falls. For my mental health and motivation I must submerge myself in water regularly. Ocean, river or pool really doesn't matter, I just need to feel buoyant every few days.
This piece of self knowledge came to me after several days of exploring the Norwegian Fjords on small passenger ships. We disembarked to spend the night at the historic Kivknes' hotel overlooking the Sognefjord. There was no swimming pool, but the desk attendant offered a dip in the Fjord. In the morning I walked down to inspect. The sea water could be entered by descending metal steps covered with algae. Never mind that it was overcast, with only a slip of sun showing, and the water was about 60 degrees. I looked into the beautiful green gray water and felt a primal urge to throw myself in and swim to the dock about 100 feet away. I returned to the hotel for my suit and a towel. I also asked Joe to come with me in case I had heart attack. But by the time we returned thesunlight had retreated and it had begun to rain. I lost the impulse.
I will not even try to describe to you the transcendent beauty of the Norwegian coast. You will just have to come for yourself. I am very fortunate to be sighted and here. So I will not complain. But I will say that traveling for several weeks is not conducive to my training regime. I have been feeling very tired and not very motivated. Fortunately yesterday we took a bus from the fjords to Voss, and there was a hotel with a swimming pool, so today for the first time in weeks I did my four blocks and I feel much more energetic.
I have enjoyed sizing up the Norwegians. Here fat is not an issue. I haven't seen a single fat Norwegian. What is obvious is that these folks are amazingly gritty, fit and big boned. Some have size, but by no stretch of the imagination would I describe them as overweight. This is very inspiring. Our bus driver, Ragnar, was a an archetype -- bearded and ruddy with very strong hands and a broad back, he described the scenery with a minimum of words. We were sitting in the the front seat, so I could see his expression and he was quite pleased with himself as he described his home turf. At one point he pointed to a building and said that it was a small factory -- for smoked sheep's heads. He explained in some detail the process of splitting the heads, and removing the brains, tongue and glands. The many British and Japanese passengers on our bus were stunned into silence, grimacing and holding their stomachs as he confidently maneuvered the large bus around hairpin turns up the mountain. He explained that smoked sheep's head was now a delicacy, although in poorer times it had helped feed the people. " Of course," he said, "you may need to drink a lot of local beer before eating. Some people find it hard to eat with their dinner staring at them. But I think its better than having it talk to you." I couldn't agree more.
When we got to a stop at a local hotel perched above an eye popping waterfall, we were informed the old highway down was closed because of a 2 km race up the road which Ragnar told us climbed at a twenty degree angle. As we pulled into the parking lot he drove the bus up very close to a parked car where a woman in her late thirties or forties, red-faced from running the climb, was changing clothes in the open air. She pulled her singlet off over her head revealing a large -boned, muscular and buxom torso clothed in textured long underwear that stuck to her curves. "This," said Ragnar proudly, " is our mayor, Mary Ann Orland. She is very ..........fit. " His voice turned wistful. Mary Ann smiled at him in a very knowing way, leaving me to conclude that her run had left her with plenty of energy to give the charming Ragnar a roll in the hay.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A Lapse in Denmark
I knew when I started this program that there would be times when I would have a hard time with motivation. This is one of those times. Since arriving in Denmark my back has hurt, my stomach is uneasy and I am finding it hard to generate enough energy to do sightseeing, let alone strenuous exercise. Fortunately, my appetite is also a bit sketchy, so I doubt I am gaining any weight.
Yesterday we drove to Skagen which is at the tip of Jutland. It is an amazing place, where Denmark's landmass comes to a very distinct point-- a long sandbar that extends into the ocean separating two seas (the Danish names for these seas sound something like Kitty Kat and Skata Ract but the actual spelling looks entirely different- nothing in Danish is pronounced anything like it is written). On the east side of the sand bar large rough breakers move toward the west where they meet the softer surf which flows from west to east. You can walk along the sand spit and wade into the waters where the two seas meet.
After the three hour car trip my mood was bad and my back hurt, but I climbed the first dune and looked at the sand spit ahead. Hundreds of people, young and old, were making the walk of about a mile and a half. I decided to force myself to do the walk with my husband who was eager to get out of the car and get moving. I made it up and down the second dune and then on to the flat spit where I began to walk toward the point. After five minutes of walking in the soft sand my legs and back hurt and I burst into tears. I didn't want to even try to go forward. I urged my husband to continue without me and I walked back slowly. Half way I stopped at the grave of a Danish writer who is buried there. There were little rocks and flowers on the top of the gravestone. I spent at least ten minutes rearranging them; concentrating on their textures as I built small towers.
I continued to the parking lot and souvenir shop where I discovered a huge sand tractor that pulled a trailer full of non-walkers to the tip of the sand spit every half hour or so, but I didn't board it for fear I would miss my husband when he returned. The whole episode made me feel abnormal -- incapable of doing things that most people seem to be able to do with ease.
Today after a long sleep, a pain pill for my back and a beer with lunch I feel a bit more optimistic. Perhaps I am just worn out from all my travel or have a mild virus. I have decided not to push myself for the remainder of the vacation. In the coming week we will be on a self guided tour of Norway including Oslo, some of the southern fjords, and Bergen. We will travel by train, bus and boat, staying in historic hotels and inns along the way. I am just going to relax about exercise and enjoy the trip. When I get home early in September I will resume my regular exercise program, I hope.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Denmark
I am writing this from Denmark. I arrived back in Silver Spring from California on Monday and left for Denmark on Wednesday. This may seem crazy, but I had a travel opportunity I just couldn't pass up. My husband, Joe, and I are house-sitting for a very kind friend in Ullerslev, which is a quiet village on the great island of Fyn. The house, which was her childhood home, is filled with old photos, and family mementos. It is comfortable, quiet and relaxing. The air is clean and smells of the sea. It has a large yard with green grass and an apple tree which is dropping fruit. We are enjoying our stay. It is a great break from our hectic life at home, with all the anxiety and excitement that come with having a big familiy and living near an urban area. Life here seems to be without angst, perhaps because of the wonderful Danish social safety net or perhaps because the Danes seem to be a naturally happy and guileless lot.
One thing they are not is totally skinny. Before we left, Joe, who is of normal U.S. size, told me he was worried he would feel fat here, because he imagined all the Danes to be tall and thin. The young are, but folks our age have generally added some girth. I have not seen anyone who is morbidly obese, but I have seen plenty of prosperous, chubby, and content looking folks in their fifties or sixties. Regardless of their size, people seem to be in good health and reasonably fit. People of all ages ride bicycles everywhere. I am impressed by middle-aged folks who easily swing their legs over the seat to mount their bikes, or coast with one leg on the peddle but with their entire body on one side of the bike as they slow to park in one of the thousands of public bicycle racks. Because I lived in the country as a child, I could ride a horse well at five, but didn't learn to ride a bike until age ten. I have never felt comfortable on one, which is too bad because it would be a great way to get in my exercise blocks here.
Instead I am stretching and walking and trying to locate the municipal swimming pool. I stretched this morning for the first time since stretching on the Berkeley High infield two weeks ago. I am totally stiff and my back is sore from the airplane and all the driving. For me, the sitting postion is a killer. The good news is that on the plane I didn't have to ask for a seat belt extender and I could gyrate holding my body at a 30 degree angle to extricate myself from the window seat to go to the batthroom without too much difficulty.
After I stretched, Joe and I walked together around the field at the local school and watched the kids at play. The young ones had the most beautiful wooden tricycles and scooters to ride and a great wooden fort on stilts to play in. There were several soccer fields, tennis courts and large grassy fields so they could exercise. All the kids seemed to be of healthy body size. I fear US policies are forcing our schools to be so preoccupied with academics (to make sure we are keeping pace with the Japaneese) that we are cheating our kids out of the health and pleasure which come from playing outdoors during the school day.
Now we are in an internet cafe in Odense, a larger city 20 km from our village, and I just completed another block of urban walking. So far I must admit that all the excersie is difficult. I don't feel motivated. Perhpas it is jet lag, exhaustion from my previous travel with my grandchildren, or the relaxed civility of this place, but all I want to do is sleep. I will now go home and take a nap.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Camping
I am sitting in a hotel room in San Rafael, CA, surrounded by open suitcases with about five loads of dirty laundry poking out or thrown on the floor beside them. I have been camping for two nights. Now, let me say from the beginning that tent camping with four children is one big exercise block. Only my most intrepid daughter, Rose, my youngest, was brave enough to go with me, so we were two adults with four kids, ages 10, 9, 7 and 4.
We chose to camp in the far north region of California in Panther Flat Campground, which is run
(very nicely) by the USDA Forest Service. I am very glad that it is not a State of California campground or it would be threatened with closure as a result of the current California budget crisis. The campground is small and intimate with lovely trees, but also with some open sunny campsites. Down one side of it runs the Smith River, one of the most beautiful, untouched wild rivers remaining in the Continental U.S.
Because I recall the days when you had to show up early to get a prime campsite, I ignored the fact that that we had reserved a site on the internet, and left the hotel for the two hour drive north from Arcata at 6:30 AM. Of course, when we arrived our campsite was still occupied, so we parked down on the flat by the river and started to look around on foot. My daughter and the grandkids went running up a steep trail toward the campsite and I overcame my resistance to walking uphill, and followed slowly behind. I was was quite proud of myself at first, for although I had to catch my breath a little at each switchback, I was making good progress until I caught the tip of my running shoe on a tree root, and took a nasty fall on a rock beside the trail. In case you haven't given this any thought, fat people fall harder than thin people do. I was shaken and scared.
But thanks to my excellent bone health (the dexa scan my thorough internist ordered affirmed my assessment that fat people like me people who grow up on dairy farms wrestling hay bales and fifty pound sacks of grain and who claim cheese as their favorite food, have thick bones), I was bruised but fine. I retreated to the car to examine the damage, and stayed there until my daughter returned saying we could check in.
Setting up camp and making sandwiches for lunch was a snap, except for the yellow jackets we attracted. After our first meal, we put on our swimsuits and headed to the river. To reach my favorite swimming hole, we had to enter the river from a rocky trail head and float downstream over many slippery rocks. The river was icy cold, but as clear as if it has been filled with Dasani. We could see fish swimming beneath us. The younger kids wore life jackets and floated down behind Rose and me, shivering and squealing in a combination of glee and hypothermia. We arrived at a small beach, beyond which the river deepened to form a natural pool. The opposite bank of the river was a rocky cliff with many small ledges, from which the young and agile among us, including my intrepid Rose, jumped into the deep water. We swam and lay in the sand in silence. I reminded my oldest grandsons who had been there before with me, that this is where I want my ashes spread (please do not report this to USDA).
Making our way back upstream dragging the little ones was quite a workout, but I was up to it because of all my lap swimming and water walking. We ate heartily that night and sat around the campfire eating smores, as I told my grandchildren the "Moon Stories" my father made-up. We slept comfortably on air mattresses in our two tents, and didn't wake until 8:00 AM!
The next day we repeated these activities and I felt relaxed and happy until the third morning when we had to break camp and attempt to stuff all our gear into the suitcases from whence it had come. We rolled, folded, swept off dirt, and crammed for four hours until all six of us were exhausted. Kenny, age 10, and Lawrence, age 9, were indispensible. Exhausted we climbed into our packed car and happily sped off to the comfort of the hotel, where we all took very long showers.
I feel exhilarated but exhausted. Tomorrow I am looking forward to stretching on the carpet and water walking in the hotel pool.
We chose to camp in the far north region of California in Panther Flat Campground, which is run
(very nicely) by the USDA Forest Service. I am very glad that it is not a State of California campground or it would be threatened with closure as a result of the current California budget crisis. The campground is small and intimate with lovely trees, but also with some open sunny campsites. Down one side of it runs the Smith River, one of the most beautiful, untouched wild rivers remaining in the Continental U.S.
Because I recall the days when you had to show up early to get a prime campsite, I ignored the fact that that we had reserved a site on the internet, and left the hotel for the two hour drive north from Arcata at 6:30 AM. Of course, when we arrived our campsite was still occupied, so we parked down on the flat by the river and started to look around on foot. My daughter and the grandkids went running up a steep trail toward the campsite and I overcame my resistance to walking uphill, and followed slowly behind. I was was quite proud of myself at first, for although I had to catch my breath a little at each switchback, I was making good progress until I caught the tip of my running shoe on a tree root, and took a nasty fall on a rock beside the trail. In case you haven't given this any thought, fat people fall harder than thin people do. I was shaken and scared.
But thanks to my excellent bone health (the dexa scan my thorough internist ordered affirmed my assessment that fat people like me people who grow up on dairy farms wrestling hay bales and fifty pound sacks of grain and who claim cheese as their favorite food, have thick bones), I was bruised but fine. I retreated to the car to examine the damage, and stayed there until my daughter returned saying we could check in.
Setting up camp and making sandwiches for lunch was a snap, except for the yellow jackets we attracted. After our first meal, we put on our swimsuits and headed to the river. To reach my favorite swimming hole, we had to enter the river from a rocky trail head and float downstream over many slippery rocks. The river was icy cold, but as clear as if it has been filled with Dasani. We could see fish swimming beneath us. The younger kids wore life jackets and floated down behind Rose and me, shivering and squealing in a combination of glee and hypothermia. We arrived at a small beach, beyond which the river deepened to form a natural pool. The opposite bank of the river was a rocky cliff with many small ledges, from which the young and agile among us, including my intrepid Rose, jumped into the deep water. We swam and lay in the sand in silence. I reminded my oldest grandsons who had been there before with me, that this is where I want my ashes spread (please do not report this to USDA).
Making our way back upstream dragging the little ones was quite a workout, but I was up to it because of all my lap swimming and water walking. We ate heartily that night and sat around the campfire eating smores, as I told my grandchildren the "Moon Stories" my father made-up. We slept comfortably on air mattresses in our two tents, and didn't wake until 8:00 AM!
The next day we repeated these activities and I felt relaxed and happy until the third morning when we had to break camp and attempt to stuff all our gear into the suitcases from whence it had come. We rolled, folded, swept off dirt, and crammed for four hours until all six of us were exhausted. Kenny, age 10, and Lawrence, age 9, were indispensible. Exhausted we climbed into our packed car and happily sped off to the comfort of the hotel, where we all took very long showers.
I feel exhilarated but exhausted. Tomorrow I am looking forward to stretching on the carpet and water walking in the hotel pool.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
My Home Town
I am visiting my home town, Arcata, CA. Anyone who grew up in a small town and returns many years later, must share a similar experience. It is a bit disappointing. The distances are much shorter and the buildings much smaller than I experienced them as a child. Jones Variety, the store that once attracted me because of its shelf of new-smelling plastic dolls and a candy counter where fifty cents went a long way toward a bag of chocolate stars, is now a thrift shop. The smell of used clothing wafted out as I walked by the open door.
But my home town still has something special-- it is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Here the majestic redwood forests descend to the edge of the dramatic and breathtakingly beautiful coastline where huge breakers splash over craggy rocks. The ocean is fed by glassy watered rivers which pool into swimming holes for those hardy enough to brave the cold.
But almost everyone who lives here seems to be in a stupor. This may be because Arcata is in Humboldt County, the marijuana capitol of the world. But I also believe the fierce beauty of this place makes the inhabitants feel that human activities such as going to school or having a career are insignificant compared to what the natural world can provide.
Being dropped back into this place makes me feel lazy. My seven grandchildren, and two of my daughters are here too, so if I had even 15 minutes to myself, I would love to take a nap protected by a sand dune or fall asleep in a mossy corner of a Redwood grove. Instead I am planning how to get my four blocks in tomorrow. I plan to go to the local swimming pool for some water walking and swimming and then see if the local high school has a track that is open to the public. I could of course, walk down the beach. But I am afraid I would be intoxicated by the beauty and end up sitting, drawing my name in the sand repeatedly, or just watching the seagulls dive for fish.
Its really important that I do my blocks because yesterday we all ate at the Home Town Buffet. It is all you can eat, and I ate all I could eat -- fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mushy green beans, and two of the doughiest raised dinner rolls I have ever eaten with a pat of butter each. I followed this by a large piece of lemon pie. Many of the fellow diners were also obese, so I would have felt at home going for seconds, except, that I was stuffed. I actually stopped eating when full. That is good because driving here from San Francisco I ate compulsively: a bag of beef jerky, a small bag of BBQ potato chips, ten or fifteen Hershy kisses and three Milano cookies. Let's hope that tomorrow, when I resume my exercise, I will also resume healthy eating.
But my home town still has something special-- it is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Here the majestic redwood forests descend to the edge of the dramatic and breathtakingly beautiful coastline where huge breakers splash over craggy rocks. The ocean is fed by glassy watered rivers which pool into swimming holes for those hardy enough to brave the cold.
But almost everyone who lives here seems to be in a stupor. This may be because Arcata is in Humboldt County, the marijuana capitol of the world. But I also believe the fierce beauty of this place makes the inhabitants feel that human activities such as going to school or having a career are insignificant compared to what the natural world can provide.
Being dropped back into this place makes me feel lazy. My seven grandchildren, and two of my daughters are here too, so if I had even 15 minutes to myself, I would love to take a nap protected by a sand dune or fall asleep in a mossy corner of a Redwood grove. Instead I am planning how to get my four blocks in tomorrow. I plan to go to the local swimming pool for some water walking and swimming and then see if the local high school has a track that is open to the public. I could of course, walk down the beach. But I am afraid I would be intoxicated by the beauty and end up sitting, drawing my name in the sand repeatedly, or just watching the seagulls dive for fish.
Its really important that I do my blocks because yesterday we all ate at the Home Town Buffet. It is all you can eat, and I ate all I could eat -- fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mushy green beans, and two of the doughiest raised dinner rolls I have ever eaten with a pat of butter each. I followed this by a large piece of lemon pie. Many of the fellow diners were also obese, so I would have felt at home going for seconds, except, that I was stuffed. I actually stopped eating when full. That is good because driving here from San Francisco I ate compulsively: a bag of beef jerky, a small bag of BBQ potato chips, ten or fifteen Hershy kisses and three Milano cookies. Let's hope that tomorrow, when I resume my exercise, I will also resume healthy eating.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Taking it on the Road
I am on vacation and facing the challenge of staying on my exercise program while away from home. This morning two of my grandsons and I drove to the track at Berkeley High School. While I did three blocks of walking and stretching, they lapped me as they jogged several miles. This is their month of vacation from swim practice, so they are staying in shape along side me. Surprisingly, Astroturf, or whatever they call it these days, is great for floor exercise. It's very clean compared to real grass or even the floor of my living room.
It was such a pleasure to walk on a track in morning fog, with the wind of the of San Francisco Bay in my face as I made the first turn. Now I know why all the US distance runners train in Oregon. I wish I could join them. Despite knowing its a necessity, I really hate to sweat. I have very thick hair and at home the sweat starts within in my scalp, wetting the the roots of my hair and working its way outward until it is drips off my bangs into my eyes. Walking in fog reverses this process. The cool vapor condenses on the ends of my hair and gradually works its way inward cooling my scalp.
After our workout we headed for San Francisco, and spent the rest of the day at a science museum and walking in the beautiful landscaping of Yerba Buena Gardens. I easily got in another block of stair climbing and ramp walking as well as just general city strolling. This was all well and good until we happened to pass " Ice Bee, Free Style Swirling," an extraordinary ice cream parlor. The place was tiled with exquisite Biazza Italian glass mosaic tiles, and lined with an even more exquisite line of softserve ice cream nozzles. There were twenty flavors, or thirty if you count swirling two conjoined flavors together. Each customer takes a pint cup and works their way down the row of nozzles taking whatever they want. I took banana, chocolate, and peanut butter and crowned it with smashed-up peanut butter cups from the toppings bar.
Oh well, as my grandson said, "We're on vacation!"
It was such a pleasure to walk on a track in morning fog, with the wind of the of San Francisco Bay in my face as I made the first turn. Now I know why all the US distance runners train in Oregon. I wish I could join them. Despite knowing its a necessity, I really hate to sweat. I have very thick hair and at home the sweat starts within in my scalp, wetting the the roots of my hair and working its way outward until it is drips off my bangs into my eyes. Walking in fog reverses this process. The cool vapor condenses on the ends of my hair and gradually works its way inward cooling my scalp.
After our workout we headed for San Francisco, and spent the rest of the day at a science museum and walking in the beautiful landscaping of Yerba Buena Gardens. I easily got in another block of stair climbing and ramp walking as well as just general city strolling. This was all well and good until we happened to pass " Ice Bee, Free Style Swirling," an extraordinary ice cream parlor. The place was tiled with exquisite Biazza Italian glass mosaic tiles, and lined with an even more exquisite line of softserve ice cream nozzles. There were twenty flavors, or thirty if you count swirling two conjoined flavors together. Each customer takes a pint cup and works their way down the row of nozzles taking whatever they want. I took banana, chocolate, and peanut butter and crowned it with smashed-up peanut butter cups from the toppings bar.
Oh well, as my grandson said, "We're on vacation!"
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Progress
It is now the end of week five and I am making progress. I can now walk quite briskly for one and a half miles on the track and swim slowly for twenty minutes without hanging on the edge of the pool gasping after each length. I am quite limber, especially my legs and back.
Last time I went to the doctor my blood sugar was 111 and my blood pressure was so low while I was lying down , the nurse made me stand up to take it again. This time in was 110/50. My stamina has improved a great deal and I feel much peppier. There is a spring in my step as I go down stairs each morning. Last night I hosted a birthday party for my seven year old granddaughter, and at the end of the evening my legs were not even tired.
But what has changed the most is my attitude toward exercise. I actually like to walk on the track now, if I can get there early enough that it is not terribly hot and humid. I love my water walking and enjoy swimming. I am trying to incorporate the stroke improvements I have seen in my grandchildren this summer. I do a reasonably good pull-out in breast stroke and streamline like a dolphin off the wall in free. Stretching is now so routine, I really can't go without it for more than 48 hours. I used to struggle with insomnia some nights. Now I fall asleep easily and sleep very soundly.
But apparently this is not enough. What everyone wants to know is if have I lost any weight. This is actually very unimportant to me, since the point of my training is to run a mile, regardless of my weight. But since everyone asks constantly, the answer is, "Yes, I have lost five pounds." Actually the week before my retirement I had ballooned to 282, and now I am back to 277. When I tell people this some look discouraged, but I am not. My clothes fit much better and I feel great, so I really don't care what the scale says.
The other thing everyone wants to know is if I am dieting. And the answer is a resounding, "No." I have no intention of ever dieting again. It just makes me too miserable and I always gain the weight back. I try to keep to a pre-diabetic diet whenever possible, but I don't count calories, or carbs or grams of fat, for that matter. I butter my wholewheat bread and do not intend to stop. And when I really want it, I eat cake or ice cream.
Even though weight loss is not my goal, I do expect to lose more weight as my fitness level increases. The last time I was fit was forty years ago in college. Instead of gaining the freshman ten, I actually lost 48 pounds my first two years in college because I took four to six dance classes a week --- Martha Graham technique modern dance, ballet, point and jazz. Back then my normal diet was cheeseburgers, Hostess Cupcakes and milk. I loved to go into the campus coffee shop and hear my classmates who worked there yell my order to the cook, "Cheesebouger!" Coming from California, I was charmed by all the East Coast accents around me.
As I added more and more dance classes to my week, a funny thing happened. One day I sat down to my lunch and after the first bite of the first cupcake (there were always two to a package in those days, but as an indicator of our nation's obesity they now come three to a package), I just couldn't eat it. All that exercise had done something. Perhaps it had changed my brain chemistry or readjusted my endocrine system. In any case, I just started eating less and less and dancing more and more until at the end of my Sophomore year, I weighted 121 lbs.
And what happened next? I moved in with the man who is now my husband, and had three daughters in six years while going to college, graduate school, and working part-time. And I gave up dancing. Each year I gained five or ten pounds. At first it was not so noticeable but by age thirty-five I was obese and I just kept gaining. So that is why I am in no hurry. It took me forty years to gain this weight, so I am okay if it takes me forty years to lose it.
Last time I went to the doctor my blood sugar was 111 and my blood pressure was so low while I was lying down , the nurse made me stand up to take it again. This time in was 110/50. My stamina has improved a great deal and I feel much peppier. There is a spring in my step as I go down stairs each morning. Last night I hosted a birthday party for my seven year old granddaughter, and at the end of the evening my legs were not even tired.
But what has changed the most is my attitude toward exercise. I actually like to walk on the track now, if I can get there early enough that it is not terribly hot and humid. I love my water walking and enjoy swimming. I am trying to incorporate the stroke improvements I have seen in my grandchildren this summer. I do a reasonably good pull-out in breast stroke and streamline like a dolphin off the wall in free. Stretching is now so routine, I really can't go without it for more than 48 hours. I used to struggle with insomnia some nights. Now I fall asleep easily and sleep very soundly.
But apparently this is not enough. What everyone wants to know is if have I lost any weight. This is actually very unimportant to me, since the point of my training is to run a mile, regardless of my weight. But since everyone asks constantly, the answer is, "Yes, I have lost five pounds." Actually the week before my retirement I had ballooned to 282, and now I am back to 277. When I tell people this some look discouraged, but I am not. My clothes fit much better and I feel great, so I really don't care what the scale says.
The other thing everyone wants to know is if I am dieting. And the answer is a resounding, "No." I have no intention of ever dieting again. It just makes me too miserable and I always gain the weight back. I try to keep to a pre-diabetic diet whenever possible, but I don't count calories, or carbs or grams of fat, for that matter. I butter my wholewheat bread and do not intend to stop. And when I really want it, I eat cake or ice cream.
Even though weight loss is not my goal, I do expect to lose more weight as my fitness level increases. The last time I was fit was forty years ago in college. Instead of gaining the freshman ten, I actually lost 48 pounds my first two years in college because I took four to six dance classes a week --- Martha Graham technique modern dance, ballet, point and jazz. Back then my normal diet was cheeseburgers, Hostess Cupcakes and milk. I loved to go into the campus coffee shop and hear my classmates who worked there yell my order to the cook, "Cheesebouger!" Coming from California, I was charmed by all the East Coast accents around me.
As I added more and more dance classes to my week, a funny thing happened. One day I sat down to my lunch and after the first bite of the first cupcake (there were always two to a package in those days, but as an indicator of our nation's obesity they now come three to a package), I just couldn't eat it. All that exercise had done something. Perhaps it had changed my brain chemistry or readjusted my endocrine system. In any case, I just started eating less and less and dancing more and more until at the end of my Sophomore year, I weighted 121 lbs.
And what happened next? I moved in with the man who is now my husband, and had three daughters in six years while going to college, graduate school, and working part-time. And I gave up dancing. Each year I gained five or ten pounds. At first it was not so noticeable but by age thirty-five I was obese and I just kept gaining. So that is why I am in no hurry. It took me forty years to gain this weight, so I am okay if it takes me forty years to lose it.
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