“Quit that, you look stupid.”
“Thanks.”
I slowed down to a walk.
“I guess it doesn’t matter. You look stupid doing that too.”
You know, I really hate listening to myself sometimes.
Is it true that we are our own worst critic? Last summer I took up walking. I have arthritis and have found that walking makes me hurt less. That’s really strange how it works but it’s like it keeps my joints lubricated. But when you’re overweight and get out there doing something you have never done in your life, you can’t help being critical.
I mean, when I am looking at myself from the inside looking out, I think I look great. I mean, in my mind’s eye I am about 25 years old, I wear a size 6, I have gorgeous hair (this is an upgrade from having beautiful hair), and I am totally graceful.
But then I catch site of myself in a reflection or a mirror and I want to gasp. I don’t look like that, do I? I don’t frown all the time, do I? I am not that old, am I?
I was walking a 5K one Sunday afternoon. I have mapped out a route that will allow me to walk that distance without a lot of interruption. I don’t have to go up and down hills and there is always this wonderful breeze. But, I noticed this one particular Sunday my shadow. I didn’t notice it until I had made up my mind that I could run.
Now, I’m not a runner, never have been. I tell people that I wasn’t built to run. And I wasn’t. I have short legs. And I’m built a lot like Dolly Parton. She once told Johnny Carson that she wasn’t built to run. If she tried it she would end up with two black eyes. I don’t know if that’s the case with me but I know that everything on me would end up hurting, bad. They just don’t build that kind of support.
Anyway, I made up my mind that I needed to try to run. And when I did, I glanced in the direction of my shadow and had to stop immediately. I looked like an idiot. First, when I run, I exaggerate everything. I fist my hands, I stick my butt out. I drop my chin. All of my movements are exaggerated. From the inside looking out I think I look cool; something out of an Olympics marathon or something. But when I caught my shadow I had to stop immediately. I didn’t look cool at all. I looked like I was, a 50 something, out-of-shape, woman trying to regain her youth. I never knew that my youth had left. It was just here a minute ago.
So how do you go from totally out of shape to sort of in shape to really being in shape? It’s not an immediate process. It takes some work. I don’t mind doing the work. But I don’t want to see the progress. I want to be blinded to what I look like until I’m sort of really in shape. Honestly, really being in shape scares me to death. What happens when I’m this one big wrinkle? I guess it won’t be any worse than being this one big roll.
Just so I don’t have to watch the progression.