Walking through Summer

I have a deal going on with my doctor. Last May, I felt terrible—actually I’d felt terrible all winter. So, I looked him square in the face and stated: “I think it’s stress. I think I need to quit my job.” To my surprise he concurred and said we’d all feel better if we quit our jobs. Then, he proceeded to order a set of blood work, which came back less than stellar. There were certain markers for type 2 diabetes, and my family history didn’t assure him one bit. But, when he started talking meds, that’s when I put in my two cents once more. “If I were to lose weight, those numbers would come down, wouldn’t they?” Since he was in a compliant kind of mood that day, he gave me six months.

But, as summer began, there were tons of things to get done—house stuff. Then, there was the trip to Texas to see a new baby and play with little girls. We made cupcakes, a pie, and we went to Babes. (I could go to Babes every night.) Next, we spent a few days with Mom and since there were just the three of us, and we had lots to do, we ate out nearly every meal. From Mom’s, our plans took us to Kansas City where we did movie night (with lots of popcorn with Flora and Scout) and late night snacks. On our return we’d both managed to gain 5 pounds.

So, with a trip to the UK a mere 2 ½ weeks away, it was time to get serious about weight loss (between spending time with our grandbaby here, of course). A 9-inch plate suddenly became my best friend and we walked. And we walked, and when I’d complain, Jay’d remind me that this had been my idea. He’d made no deals with the doctor, but he was incredibly supportive of mine.

As soon as the American Airlines jet touched the ground in London, so did our feet. We walked to our B&B; we walked through a library, galleries, and museums. We took a fast train to Canterbury and walked all day. My goal was simply to not lose ground, so my diet plan was to eat half my meal and give the other half to Jay. (I’m not sure what that did for him, but at least he wasn’t ever hungry.)

After meeting up with Joel’s family, we walked in the Lake District and down Hadrian’s Wall. We walked up more castle stairs than I want to recall, and we walked some more, even down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. We walked up more castle stairs, looking out over the North Sea, and I was grateful we’d started walking weeks before in Colorado Springs, or I would never have survived.

Arriving back in London late, we discovered our hotel room for the next 5 days was perched on the fourth floor—76 stairs up. And after we ate breakfast each day in the basement, we hiked a whopping 92 stairs back up to our room. We walked down streets; we walked across bridges, and we walked along the shores of the Thames.

Once home it took a couple of days to lose the two pounds of water weight from being on a plane or sitting in an airport for nearly 24 hours, and I was grateful to be back to where I’d left off before leaving.

So, jetlagged and all, we once again began to walk. We walked early in the mornings. Once school started, we began walking late at night. I guess we’ll just keep walking until we walk into the fall and winter, where I plan to walk right into the doctor’s office a slimmer and healthier me.

Now that I have them, I don’t want to lose my walking legs—because next summer I just might decide to walk up one of those mountains that I look at each day as I trek across the east side of town.