Janice and I had a side competition between us. Given my do
or die attitude towards all things competitive, I was right there. I even went out
and purchased a trophy that was claimed by the week’s weight loss winner.
The realization that my strategy of eating everything with
no exercise wasn’t helping my weight loss campaign, I decided to step up my
game. I figured actually getting sweaty through prolonged vigorous activity
would help my cause.
Early morning exercising doesn’t work for me. I have to
have coffee to start my day, check on clients and get work out the door. I
started walking in the evenings, leaving my house and following my usual routes.
Given that I have done this on and off over the years (I’ve lived in my house
for 20 years) I know every possible street within a five mile radius of my
house. I thought I would try something new. Each afternoon I would drive into
the city and drop the car off for Mark and then walk home.
After the first couple of days I realized a direct route was
too short. I started finding circuitous ways home. This worked! I usually
arrived home just after Mark so I knew I was onto something.
On this particular day, everything was going well. I had
found a new route, some steps to run up and down (had to increase my heart
rate) and was making good time. I was seven minutes from home, enjoying the
feel of my muscles, listening to some slamming tunes and soaking in the fresh
air. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a car had slowed down and it was Mark. I
couldn’t hear his comments but he was smiling at me. In turn, I waved widely and
wildly as he drove by. Next thing I knew I was sliding across the side walk.
What. Just. Happened? How was I laid flat out on my stomach
in the middle of the street? I lay there for a few moments, stunned. I took
stock of my position. I began searching around frantically for my glasses. I
couldn’t find them. I had to make sure I didn’t tread on them as I stood. All
this while traffic whizzed by. One lady stopped to ask if I was okay. Gathering
my dignity, I replied in the affirmative. As I looked across the street at her,
I realized I could see her clearly. I put my hand to my face and found my
glasses. With my glasses no longer in danger, I gingerly rose to my feet.
As I took stock of my injuries, I found a huge gash on my
left hand where it had glided gracelessly over the surface of the pavement. I considered looking around for the lost skin but thought better of it and
started the injured woman’s hobble home.
I walked in the kitchen door calling for Mark to provide me
with medical attention. He came down to see what all the fuss
was about. Sure enough he ran off to gather the antibiotic and band aids. I
have no idea where these items came from, I didn’t even know we owned such things.
Wounds and pride bandaged, I went to lie down to recover
from the trauma of my unexpected trip. Over the following few days I was asked
repeatedly about the damage to my hand. Not wanting to provide embarrassing
details of my publicly humiliating fall, I would look the person in the eye and
answer with a shrug, “it’s a sports related injury.” End of discussion.
