Hello, dear reader!
They say every journey starts with a single step.
I’m on a mission to see if that’s true.
Not that this is the start of said mission. No, that kicked off in January when, with the knowledge that August will see me turn a full half-century old, I decided it was past time to knock this old and slightly knackered body into some kind of shape (I know round is a shape, but you get my drift).
But, of course, you can always do better, can’t you?
And so, with Mad March and it’s spate of celebrations out the way, I’ve decided to turn things up a notch. To achieve this, I’ve incorporated two things.
The first is to replace the fourteen minute cardio I’ve been doing literally some mornings into a more regular, accountable set of weighted exercises using the dumbbells I’ve rescued from the garage. They’re not the heaviest, weighing in at a sensible, non-arm-snapping 5kg, but they add a bit, and I feel slightly less of a wally than just waving my arms around emulating swimming strokes.
The second? Well, the second, the meat and drink to which this post is dedicated. Is walking.
It’s not always been the case. In fact I used to make steady if somewhat unsteady progress out of the chair in my youth, but operations, hospitalisations, and, well, laziness, have meant I’ve taken to using my ‘chair as my first, last, and pretty much only method of getting about.
But, with fitness, age, and a wish to improve my mobility in mind, the example of one Lee Cook, ( a fellow wheelie who has taken to trundling around supermarkets on his walking frame) and with my Wúnder-wifey, Tina beside me to catch my falls (or, more probably, crease herself laughing, remember herself, and then pick me up off the floor) I’ve taken a semi-regular stroll on my elbow crutches over the last three or four weeks.
These strolls are unhurried, ungainly strolls up the street on which I live. For the first week, they were to a lamppost just above the house next door, the next they stretched to the salt bin outside the house next to that. My hope is, with practice, that distance will improve, but it’s making the effort to actually take those few steps most if not every day that’s really paying dividends.
After each perambulation, my legs and arms ache. My legs because they’re lacking in both muscle and practice, and my arms because, as my pins tire, my weight shifts to my crutches. This ache doesn’t last all that long, and as the days go by I’m finding it’s not quite as, um, achey, either. A missed day, well that means I’m in for more soreness, and more exhaustion.
As for why I am missing days, well that all comes down to the Great British weather. If it’s wet, which, over the last few weeks it has been a fair bit, then a safety first protocol comes into play. I’m all for doing the work and improving my walking, but not at the expense of one stick sliding out from under me and leaving me in a painful, soggy heap with a torn shoulder and a sprained dignity. And that’s not even counting the mocking laughter (Tina!).
Hopefully, as the year slides by, the weather will improve and less short walks will be spoiled.
Best foot forward, eh?
Until next time…
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Hey, there! If you enjoyed reading the above, why not take a look at some of my published work? Below you’ll find links to a number of short stories I’m lucky enough to have included in anthologies. I’d love to know what you think
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