Yesterday I took one of those detailed health quizzes online. I found out it would be better if I revisited the idea of vitamins, that I eat pretty darned well (probably better than most Americans but not as good as it could be for someone genetically predisposed to high blood pressure). And I also found out I should be concerned because I’m “obese.”
Yes, that’s right, obese.
If you’re offended by salty language you might want to stop reading here. Because basically I mother-fucked my computer and wished death on the inventors of the quiz. Yeah, I know it’s not very spiritual, but it’s what happened. Some of us have curves, you know, actual breasts and things. You know where you can put your “normal” chart, right?
That was yesterday.
Today I moved on with things, just as I consistently preach to my clients and readers. Small steps. My physical therapist increased my load last week.
So I got on the elliptical machine as Mayor Bloomberg conducted a press conference outside the Empire State Building, where a shooting happened this morning. I watched his calm, professional delivery and then turned to my music.
From there I moved to the aerobics studio, where, as I’ve been doing the better part of four months, I set up a mat, dumb bells, ankle weights, step, and stretch band and did my entire regimen. On the other side of the same room, a guy punched the very bag that I was hitting when I injured my knee so many months ago. There was a soothing rhythm to it all, him punching, me doing leg lifts in front of a mirror. I looped “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera over and over in my iPod.
My world. My body. My attitude.