My parents may have had lots of faults (who doesn’t?), but they succeeded as parents in several respects; one of the most important being that they were able to change. They changed more than once. And they keep changing. And with change I believe comes Hope. (Geez, with all the “hope” and “change,” it sounds like I am running for office :)).
With that being said, I recently did a walk for Breast Cancer Research. I was not thrilled about going–at all. But spurred on by knowing that I was meeting up with some of my dear colleagues, I propelled myself out the door on an early Sunday morning. Chatting it up as we strolled, I found myself declaring that I was finally going to do it: I was finally going to start working out. I was going to start small, but do-able. 20 minutes a day on my Nordic track. I elicited the help from one of my dear colleagues. I asked her to inquire every day to see if I had followed through on my mission. I needed additional Motivation.
So began my Nordic track quest. I bought my Nordic track on EBay for a couple of hundred dollars about 9 years ago. The little computer gadget no longer works, but since the rest of it is not too sophisticated, it is still operational. It lives in a corner of my huge refinished basement, by two windows that overlook my wooded backyard. I have sporadically used my Nordic track, listening to music, but quickly getting bored with the whole idea.
Somehow, there was shift in my attitude. Maybe it was seeing how healthy some of the runners looked at the Breast Cancer Run/Walk. Maybe it was the recognition that I didn’t feel so great lately–I was getting stiff–like the Tin Man without his oil. I was feeling old and flabby and lethargic. Maybe I am starting to forgive my body for letting me down on the baby front. At any rate, I weaved my Nordic track quest into my morning routine, right between the first cup of Earl Grey tea and my second cup with Greek yogurt and granola.
Now mind you, my gym teachers did way more to discourage me from physical exercise than encourage me. I am plagued with memories of having my glasses flung across the room after getting whacked forcefully by the rubber ball in dodge ball, when I could no longer successfully hide behind some other kid. Or waiting and waiting to be “picked” for a team. I learned patience, but not a love of sports, because I was usually the last to be picked. I am not athletic or especially coordinated, and after being humiliated repeatedly, I tend to shy away from most athletic activities altogether.
But despite all of that, I am doing it; every day, I am pounding away on my Nordic track. And for the most part, I enjoy it. I actually enjoy it. It is some “me” time, where I am alone with my thoughts. And I feel better, I am not longer carrying a bunch of stress around in my body, and I don’t feel so stiff. I have hope that things will get better because I know I can change.
What about you? What are your thoughts on hope and change?