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Walking the track
There's a stiff breeze today, enough of a wind to ruffle Pacific Ocean waters into a series of white caps out yonder and, I suspect, crashing waves on the shores. Moreover, the wind is strong enough to merit a head covering; up here on the track every breeze and every drop in temperature exaggerates itself.
While the weather plays a part in the enjoyment of my now regular morning walk, the benefits I've gained far outweigh the best and the worst that nature throws at me. Since the first day I ventured onto the track above Brooks High School and the time of writing this article, 33 weeks and 2 days have passed into eternity. For me, they've been monumental.
It was on June 30 that the truth finally dawned on me:
get physically fit or you will probably end up in a wheelchair. Or, dead. My blood pressure was high despite years of pills, weight continued to pile on my creaky frame and I was now reliant on a cane to walk more than a short distance. Even my husband's decades long habit of walking eight to ten kilometres, six days a week, failed to motivate me. Now, I was genuinely scared of the consequences of my inaction.
July 1, 2015: I did my first lap at the track today, barely made it around the shortest one using my cane but at least now I have a goal.
I aimed for a weight loss of one pound per week and the ability to handle five laps at a time. Although I'm only slightly short of the hoped-for reduction of 40 pounds, I complete between eight and ten laps per morning, the cane is in the closet, my blood pressure is normal and I recently rejoiced at the compliment of a friend, "You look ten years younger".
Oh yes, I also climb stairs without fear or panting.