So, I walk.

"I wasted time, now doth time waste me." William Shakespeare

I'm feeling in the passage of time. I've told Mc that I blame it on his turning 18, but the reality is that I've been feeling it for the last several months. Suddenly, the image in the mirror shocks me. I'm looking more and more like my mother every day....which wouldn't be a bad thing, since I see her as a very attractive woman. Or, rather, she CAN be when she wants to. Heh-heh! No, the real horror is that Mom, and then eventually me, may begin to look more and more like my maternal grandmother.

Let's face it, obesity is a part of my genetic make up. I've already made great strides in terms of my diet. Fast food has been virtually non-existent in my menu for years now. I've always preferred fruits and veggies to fatty dishes, chocolate, or sweets. My biggest downfall (besides portion control) is BREAD. Oh boy....do I ever love bread, potatoes, rice, noodles.....if it's starchy, it makes me drool.

Alas.

OK, so for years I resisted excercise. I have always hated it, have always resented it. But now I acknowledge that I must come to terms with it and make it a part of my life. Last fall I started attending several outdoor activities offered by the Polk County Conservationists.....fun, free activities that I could do with my boys, and which was getting me off my couch and moving. That tapered off to nothing with the onset of winter, but now that the weather is good again, I find myself at it again.

What I've learned.....I'm not a "gym" kinda gal. Pumping away the calories on a big machine while staring blearily at a tv or magazine just doesn't do it for me. I will quit working out LONG before I should.

So, I walk. A comfy pair of sneakers, a pedometer, and $2 in my pocket to treat myself to a diet soda during the last stretch, and I can cover a lot of territory. The trick, at first, was to march in a straight line until I was butt-tired, and then and only then did I turn around and head home. A good way to squeeze out some extra work, since I had no choice other than to camp out on the curb.

Someone told me about a site that introduced a training plan for inactive people to start a jogging regimine. "From couch to 5K" it was called. I read it, thought, "I can do this!!!" and headed out to the track. Less than two minutes later, I was bent over double, coughing up a lung. It was torture, and I knew that I would quit excercising long before I got my body used to that kind of workout.

So, I walk. I started off at 3 miles a day. Now, I'm at 6 miles a day. I made it 7.25 one day, but my feet hurt so bad that I decided I had pushed too fast. The object isn't to abuse myself. It's to make myself stronger and, hopefully, leaner.

I visited my doctor last week. I handed him my health chart, on which I'd logged my weight, mileage, steps, and daily calories. At first, he was thrilled that I had finally started excercising. Then he started comparing the daily calories against the daily output vs my weight. He was stymied. He said he absolutely could not understand why I wasn't losing weight.

Depressed, I called my mother. She, like me, had battled her weight her entire life. Her doctor had told her that had she been alive as an early man, she would have survived. Her body, like mine, has mastered hoarding and conserving fat. But, she pointed out, that's no longer why she excercises. She knows she'll never be thin. Noone in our family is. But, the women in our family, due to weight and inactivity, tend to get weak in their old age. They can't get around on their own, they become dependent on others. Mom's goal is not about looking fasionable, it's abut staying strong. Staying healthy. Staying mobile and happy. And staying independent.

So, I walk. I still monitor my calories, but I haven't quite given up hope that I may yet win the battle of the bulge. But I AM getting stronger. I'm walking further all the time. My clothes aren't fitting any differently, but underneath my familiar layer of blubber, I suspect I can feel a new ridge of muscle.

Survive! Iowa Camping

Ooooooo....sounds like high adventure, doesn't it?

Well, sorry to disappoint. It was just two inexperienced campers trying to make the best of it at the local Jester State Park camp site.

Mn has never been camping before, and I've never gone when I didn't have either a boy scout or my Daddy to handle everything. So, after enjoying some stunning nature pics taken by a dear friend of mine, I got it into my head that it would be a great idea to introduce my youngest to a weekend of nature, which would afford me the opportunity to do some leisurely experimenting with my camera.

Says I to my DH, "I'm going to take Mn camping this weekend."

"Uh-huh," he responded. The look in his eyes said that he knew he'd be joining a police search on Sunday to dredge our bones from the bottom of the lake.

"It'll be fun." I said. "What's the worse that could happen? I can't get the tent up or can't start the fire, so we load the truck back up and come back home. Big deal. It'll be good for a laugh."

"Uh-huh," he said. Testimony to his faith in my survival skills. "Maybe I should come out and help you set up."

At work on Friday, I told my co-workers, "I'm going to take Mn camping this weekend." I was met with unbelieving stares, followed shortly by hysterical laughter. "No, I'm not kidding." I said. "I'm really going to do this."

"Well," said my friend, Mary, "You're no stranger to sleeping in the cold. You can always burrow into some grass clippings to sleep if you need to." (She is referring to the time I was locked out of my house and had to sleep, shivering, in my rose garden under freshly mowed grass clippings until my husband rose to shower in the morning and discovered me missing.)

Be Prepared! I'm a boy scout Mom, so I knew this. I went to the public library and check out Camping For Dummies. With this information under my belt, I felt absolutely prepared.

I packed everything....I mean EVERYTHING! one should need. I even made a list of nature-related activities to keep the five-year-old involved and to instigate interest into a part of life he rarely sees.

And Friday after work, the two of us climbed into the truck and drove the 20 minutes to the deep wilds of Jester Park, with DH driving behind on his motorcycle. (He only had to call me on my cell phone once to tell me I'd missed my exit).

I was surprised to discover that the park was PACKED! We were literally elbow to elbow with other campers. Not an unblocked view of the lake to be found. So much from escaping civilization.

Under DH's supervision, I set up the tent in a record three hours (a record since I'd never done it before), with only one minor injury to show for it. Then I got us registered, picked up wood for the campfire, established a cooking station, and waved DH cheerfully home. "I'll come back tomorrow to see if you're ok," he said, before leaving. Which was to say, to see if we were still alive or consumed by rabid racoons.

No sooner has the dust from his motorcycle furled into memory, Mn turned to me and said, "I really miss Daddy."

Sigh.

We couldn't find sticks thin enough to roast the weiners. So, we had to grill them. But we did manage to sacrifice a marshmellow or two to the camping gods before bedtime. Bedtime found me sharing a cramped sleeping bag with a shivering child. He slept the envious sleep of youth, while I numbed first one hip then the other on the unyielding ground, while fending off first one childish fist, then -- somehow -- a foot. Dawn found me wide awake.

After a scorched breakfast (yum! Camping cooking!), we set off for our first hike of the day. The trail signed offered the dire warning, "1 mile long, Difficult terrain." OK, thought I, we can always turn back when we start to get tired. I had my camera around my neck, and my deep jacket pockets loaded with drinks and fruit. We set off, and in less than 2 minutes, Mn was out of sight and voice range. Like a horse at the starting gate, he was off. Fortunately, he realized that he had left his poor old gray haired mother....probably when he realized noone was responding to his nonstop chatter....and he quickly returned to rescue me. Like father like son.

I tried to show him a deer track. I tried to show him a mole trail. I even tried to show him a beautiful, dew-sparkled spider's web. All he cared about was how fast he could spring down the trail. I heard a rattle overhead and spied a beautiful bird peering down at me. My first photo op!!!! But just as I brought the camera to my eye, Mn of the Thundering Hooves came whooping back toward me, and with an eruption of leaves, all wildlife fled the area. Maybe even fled Iowa. I shut my camera down with a sigh.

We reached the river in less than five minutes, where Mn likewise vacated the lake of all fish life by tossing in rocks large and small. During that time I managed to spy and photograph a family of Turkey Vultures sunning themselves on a branch (see photo above). I kept creeping closer until they finally spied me and lazily moved down the branch out of sight. Smooth handling of uncouth human voyeurism.

The "1 miles difficult terrain" trail ended less than 5 minutes after that. What the.....? Not sure where the other 12/13 of the mile went, but we wandered back to camp. Had a sandwich, hit another trail on the other side of camp, which took us to another drift of deadwood and brackish water. Then, back to camp again, by which time it was noon and Mn decided he'd had enough of me and my lack of DVDism.

I was too tired to resist. Down came the camp, and back home we went. To a totally unsurprised, and welcoming DH.

Uncamp. Shower. Sink into the couch. Aaaaah....life is good.

Happy Birthday?

I can't believe it....my eldest son is 18 years old, today.

Celebrating the birthdays and ticking away the years was all fine and well when the children are wee, but once they become young adults, the omnipresent passage of time can be.....well....oppressive.

Let's just say, I can't celebrate DES' 18th birthday with too much jubilation.

When I turned 30, I didn't care. When I turned 40, I just shrugged. But now that my son is turning 18.....I feel old. I cannot believe it.