So everyday after lunch this week Kate and I go out for our “walk,” which for Kate consists of basically being able to count the number of steps we take beyond our front door and me heaving and panting as if I either just ran for my life from some man-eating monster with teeth the size of my head OR like some oversexed animal in heat who has their way with the male sex and then eats them. Take your pick.
I gotta to honest with y’all: I hate going out walking in the walker. I love how I feel an hour after I’m done with the walk… that’s great. But getting ready to go out and actually doing the walk, well my internal dialog sounds like a mother reasoning with a four year old to put her trousers on. I know it’s going to be hard, I know it’s going to hurt, I know I’m going to struggling and not be ab
le to find my stride just walking (and to think I had dreams of doing the London Marathon in my running frame… ha!). In short, it’s gonna suck.
On the up side, I was able to walk up to the Mooreland Centre sign today! Which is about double what I was able to do this time last week. Hooray for compound growth I keep telling myself, setting up absurd goals in my head. If I keep doubling the distance I can do every week, I’ll be able to do a half marathon and then the following week the full thing.
I hate the way my knee still hurts stepping outside my front door every time I start the walk. Everything feels so far away and the world so big, myself powerless in it. But I’ve made a promise to myself to go out in my walker everyday that I’m here regardless, so that’s what’s going to happen.