I am HUGELY SUPERPLEASED to report that I have been a very, very good girl this week. I am prancing and preening and overflowing with virtue and smugness at this very moment. Because I am a walking MACHINE. This past week was a roaring success.
Um, mostly.Listen, on Monday, I walked my son to school and then continued on the long way home, and then came inside and calculated my distance and felt all pleased and smug. “I will walk even further tomorrow,” I vowed.
On Tuesday, I walked my son to school and then continued on the long way home, and then took an extra added loop and felt very pleased with myself indeed when I finally arrived home.
(I also ordered myself an armband for my iPhone so that I can feel even more dorky, because it turns out that it’s hard to power-walk and listen to a podcast and wrangle a very excited dog when one is holding one’s phone in one’s hand, particularly if you are maybe also carrying a bag of dog poop. YOU’RE WELCOME.)
Tuesday night I was cleaning up after dinner, and when I went to push the (heavily dish-laden) lower rack of the dishwasher back inside the unit after loading, it… tried to kill me. The rack fell off the track and dishes leaned this way and that and it made a very loud I AM ABOUT TO RIP THE DOOR OFF THE DISHWASHER noise and so I reacted without thinking—I reached down with both hands and tried to muscle the rack back into place.
The rack that was full of dishes.
Something in my back went *twinge* when I did that. It did not feel good. In fact, it felt the polar opposite of good, and after wrangling the dishwasher into submission via sheer will (and a healthy dose of profanity) I had to shake my fist at the sky and bemoan my bad luck.
Because, you see, an hour before dinner? I’d had my monthly chiropractic adjustment. And I’d felt FANTASTIC. But then… the dishwasher. The *twinge*. And then, pain.
I took some ibuprofen and lay on the couch and kept saying to my husband, “But I was JUST ADJUSTED. Maybe I’ll wake up and be ALL BETTER? Because my spine WANTS to be happy?” My husband kept saying, “Yes, dear,” which is husbandspeak for “I am afraid to disagree with you even though you are being crazy.”
All of this is to say: On Wednesday, I didn’t walk. I took it easy and iced my back and took a lot of ibuprofen.
But! On Thursday I walked the same route I’d done on Monday. Not quite as far as Tuesday, but still. My back felt mostly better (yay) but I didn’t want to push my luck.
This morning (Friday) I’m headed out to walk the kid to school and then walk with a friend who is training for a half-marathon, so I don’t know how far we’ll walk, but further than I’ve been going, I’m guessing. (My poor little dog. I hope her paws don’t fall off.) I’ve walked 4 out of 5 school days this week, which I’m calling a WIN. And I’ve averaged a couple of miles each time, so I really do feel good about it.
So! On the plus side, I’m out there, I’m moving, I’m trying VERYVERYVERY hard to make this a sustainable habit. My dog is already hip to the program and begins leaping and whining when I put my shoes on each morning, now. And I really enjoy both the one-on-one time with my son and then podcast time while I’m out.
On the minus side, I feel like I’m a lot hungrier since I started walking more. I’m not trying to lose weight (just maintain) but I kind of feel like I’m constantly snacking again, which I fear is a slippery slope even if the snacks are things like fruit and nuts. Also, there’s the whole dishwasher-trying-to-kill me thing. That’s a fitness hazard I just did NOT see coming.