There's Always Tomorrow

Never let a day pass that you will have cause to say, I will do better tomorrow.
--Brigham Young (1801-1877, American Mormon leader)

There's Always Tomorrow . . . .

Boy, was I ever in trouble last Monday morning. The rain poured down like it was time to uncover the Ark - and I knew I had to walk in it. I took the day before off - I was tired. I did, however, do an hour Pilates studio class where the instructor, Jackie, kicked our butts - so the day wasn't a total loss.

All the avid runners and walkers I know tell me that with the kind of daily, weekly and yearly walking mile totals I rack up (2361.28 miles in 2005 - my third full year) it's OK to take a day off once a week.

I say: "Until daily walking is ingrained in your psyche, your bones, your blood, take no days off if you can help it. Why would you? For good behavior? You've been living a lifetime of rewards for "good behavior" and the jig's up. You never know what tomorrow will bring and you may need to take off for a real emergency. One day off leads to two days off, two leads to three, and the next thing you know - you're right back where you started from - a big, fat, lazy slug layin' on the couch, chompin' on chips."

Case in point:

Last Monday's rainy, chilly, Windy City wind - whipped across the Chicago River at the Orleans Street Bridge vicious enough to turn every single umbrella that came toward me inside out. One gal cautioned as she passed, "Be careful!" Soaked to her skin, she dragged a deflated, red umbrella along the soggy sidewalk behind her. With that, I made an abrupt about face and headed back toward East Bank Club. I was not about to see my favorite designer umbrella get blown to smithereens.

I have to confess, indoor walking is not my favorite form of cardio even in such an opulent, state-of-the-art health club as EBC. I'll walk outdoors in ten or twenty below wind chills with 40 MPH blasts blowing snow up my butt the whole way, but I'll be dressed for it. Walk in torrential rains - not this Roseanne Roseannadanna. I hate getting soaked. So . . . the treadmill it was. See what I mean about taking a day off - even a Sunday? It leaves you with no choice. In my case, one day off will NOT lead to two - I won't let it. I can't afford to.

I Voodoo dance my way through the club collecting my water and towel and proceed to pick a spot on one of the newest, high-tech LifeCycle treadmills - the ones that look like Star Wars sky scooters. The thing practically does it all for you except sweat. Hitting the quick start, I began my hour-long, indoor trek inching up the speed as I warm up.

4:51 into it, I have a hard time keeping my eyes off the elapsed time clock and couldn't help but wonder where I'd be on my walk right now had I not detoured. This indoor thing was never gonna work if I didn't distract myself with some real butt-moving music. I put my powers of concentration to work and hypnotize myself for the duration.

14:16 - My eyes slit open a tad and spy a commercial on one of the nine gigantic TVs that hang scattered around EBC's cavernous cardio room - "Bavarian Blackberry" the foot-high letters scream from the screen. "Hurry and get yours before they're gone!" I quickly realize they're not talking about a Palm Pilot-like Blackberry, but a luscious crème pie! "Hurry and get mine before they're gone? Indeed," I think. Just what I need to see when I'm grapping to kick the sugar and starch habit I'm gradually slipping into. My weight's up about five pounds over the past few weeks with out-of-town company, celebrations and such, and five pounds is where I put on the brakes. (More on this weight gain situation in a later post.)

The dampness of the morning makes my knees shriek with pain, so I walk at a speed of 2.8. I don't want to go too fast because constant repetitive motion is a huge no-no for me - another reason why I hate the darn treadmill - better I should walk around the city's uneven, urban terrain. Sigh. I'm committed for now.

29:46 - I'm half way there. I bump up the speed to 2.9. Today's treadmill trudge is a be-atch for me. I switch my I-pod to Tibetan tunes; they always transport me. Grabbing the handrails for dear life, I close my eyes and away I go.

34:12 - I jab the speed arrow up to 3.0, snag a sip of water and continue to hallucinate to the rhythms pulsing in my ears.

49:36 - "I'm almost there," I think! "Only a few more seconds to go!"

49:39 - Oy, I made a mistake! I must be delirious. My mind plays tricks on me - there are sixty minutes in an hour, not fifty. Shoot. I'm doing sixty minutes if it kills me. "And try not to make the last ten minutes a chore, will ya?" I advise myself. Relying on my endurance walking training, I pump my arms, elbows at 90 degrees, my thumbs turned toward the sky. The faster I swing them, the more efficiently I walk.

More water.

"Cover up those darn numbers so you quit staring at them, already. You're counting each digit off as if your life depends on it." I scold.

59:19 - Oh, boy!

59:51 - Finally!

59:52 - "This is nuts," I think. "You're there."

Auto cool down suddenly kicks in and the machine slows. 2.92 miles at an average of 22-minute miles it reads. Not stellar, but I'm sweating. Heart rate hovers at 104. How could that be? Maybe the darn sensor isn't working. Punching the STOP button, I've had enough - sixty to the exact second.

Now, on to my weights . . . . how many of you would've stuck it out and took the sixty-minute indoor stroll? Hmmm?

There are no quick fixes and no easy answers to weight loss, don't let anyone kid you. To get where you want to go with your weight, fitness and health, you gotta wanna. How bad do you wanna?

Laura Dion-Jones Casey
P.O. Box 10876
Chicago, IL 60610
312-933-7325
April 3, 2006©
dionjones@aol.com