I started walking 8 miles every morning earlier this week. I did it because 6 miles was boring. And I wasn’t losing anymore weight! I plateaued, as they say, around 190 pounds, and stayed there for about two months. My BMI is 180 and I have a cool, linen suit that I used to wear when I was 25 years old. It will probably fit at the 172 pound mark.
So I was frustrated. Losing 40 pounds was nice. Eating everything in sight is nice. But, clearly, there was work left to be done. So I bumped it up to 8 miles per day. And I noticed that I wasn’t feeling any different after doing eight miles. So I bumped it up to 10 miles every morning. And I lost 5 pounds the next day.
So now I am happy again. But it takes almost three hours to walk this distance and my mind keeps telling me that’s too long. I should run. But I don’t like to run. It hurts to run.
So I told my mind to shut up. And now it’s sulking someplace trying to figure out another strategy. Because it doesn’t care about losing weight. Weight is not an issue to the mind. Except when someone says, “That’s heavy, dude”. Then the mind feels good and wants to take a bow. But, otherwise, it only cares about being in charge. “I want this”. “I want that”
It wants what it wants. And it can’t get much of that when you’re walking.
When I started walking ten miles I realized that this is about the distance from the house I grew up in to my grandmother’s house. I have some nice memories of traveling back and forth with my parents and sisters to see Grandma and Pops. Sometimes I was allowed to sit in the front seat between Mom and Dad. There were no baby seats back then. We were little unguided missiles ready to experiment with the laws of gravity if Dad ever ran into a tree or a cow in the road.
Fortunately, this never happened and I have fond memories of our journeys home as darkness fell on those warm summer nights. I could never have imagined walking to Grandma’s house every day. It was too far away! But here I am, practically an old man, going down the road and not even using a cane!
Here’s a map (Thanks Google) that shows where we used to live and where my grandparents used to live. They’re dead now, of course, as is my Mother. Dad is still around but he lives down on Cape Cod. I can’t get the map to do the actual route we took. 495 didn’t exist then and this other cutoff wasn’t there either. It was just a straight shot over old roads, through farms and other places that are probably gone.
Much of it is gone. The people are gone. My Aunt lived up the road from my grandparents. She died some years ago. My sisters are all here still, thankfully. And the memories remain for awhile. Technically, I still need to bump it up another two miles to make it all the way to Grandma’s.
So I should work on that. And then I can fit into that suit I wore 35 years ago when they were all alive. And, maybe, we can all have a party! I hope so. I would like that very much!
“David, you are looking very good in your suit. I always liked the way it looked on you.”
“Thanks, Mom! But I don’t think you ever saw me in this suit. I bought it in Richmond after I moved away.”
“Oh, yes. (she laughs) Maybe that’s true. But I always liked the way you looked when you dressed up in a suit.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m just happy we are having this conversation now. After all these years.”
Mom laughs again.
It’s just idle chatter, after all. It’s a party