It's been a journey of fits and starts, true dedication followed by a little resentment.
Some days I have trouble getting motivated, and think I should join a gym and have someone yell at my lazy butt. Then I remember why I need to move, just move, not lift weights or jog or do one armed push-ups. All I need to do is move.
Get my sore stiff, inflamed joints on my treadmill and just move.
So I move, and I climb, I climb a thousand feet some days, other days only 400 or so. I go sorta fast, I go at a snails pace, I move. I jiggle my arms (or to be fair they do that on their own) Sometimes I warm up and don't go on the treadmill. I stretch, vacuum or wash the floors instead. Just move.
Some days I'm still too hard on myself, and need to remember not to bully myself, not to be disgusted with what I see in the mirror. That's the hard part. I saved last years wall calendar so I could see all the miles I've walked and all the days I did it. I try to atta girl myself at least once a day.
Some days are hard, this past week has been a study in contradictions. Move for your joints, but the joints don't want to move. My body has decided that it can't/won't process certain foods, just out of the blue. It also doesn't want to let me sleep, let me get the rest I need to get so I can move.
I feel like I'm packing a piano on my shoulders. Grabbing a coffee cup hurts all up my arm, placing one foot after the other sends shooting pains up my legs. Can't turn my head for the stiffness. I managed on 5/7 days to get on the treadmill. Didn't go far, only climbed 400-500 feet a day, but I got up on the damn thing. Atta girl!
Sometimes I need a reminder why I need to move. I found dust on my canes this morning and my walker has a squeaky wheel. All those pill bottles are reduced to 4 pills a day. That's 4!! So I guess we need to keep moving.
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