By Janet Walgren
What ever happened to the healthy well built figure? A figure that was not fat, not skinny, not lacking muscle tone, but healthy and shapely used to be the norm in the olden days. I used to have a beautiful figure and I fully expected to arrive in a coffin dressed in the perfect size 9.
About two months ago I noticed that it was getting harder to move freely and do the things that I wanted to do. I thought of the many elderly people that I know with sever mobility challenges and then I took a good long hard look in the mirror; it was frightening. I saw twice the woman that I used to be staring back at me, and I don’t mean that in a good way. I thought back to the good old days when I used to be a tigger. I owned several martial arts schools, a scuba diving academy, and had a trampoline in my backyard; I loved everything physical especially gymnastics. Could it be that I had physically arrived at the point of no return? At that moment I decided to hedge my bets and re-invent myself. If my mind wasn’t old and out of shape, why should I let my body continue to be that way?
The first thing I did was to mentally visualize myself wearing a pretty dress in a perfect size nine standing in a garden waiting for my prince charming. The next thing I did was get to work. I changed my diet completely and hopped on the treadmill and vowed to make it my daily routine for life. Surprisingly, it only took a good hard solid week to start enjoying my morning routine, and two weeks to start noticing a difference. By week three, my vision was firmly planted in my brain, “As a man thinketh…right?”
Now, at week eight, my inner child has come to life and my imagination is starting to soar. At the end of each workout I tell myself, “Good Job Janet!” The other day I was walking on the treadmill thoroughly enjoying myself. I remembered the days that I soared on the trampoline and could do any number of impressive tricks. Then I began thinking of a video clip that my daughter showed me on YouTube of a group of guys that do a choreographed routine on treadmills. I surveyed the treadmill handles and decided that they looked about the same as the parallel bars, but reality set in quickly. Aha! At least I could throw my arms up in a victory celebration as the treadmill’s timer crossed the finish line and say “Good Job” as I rode backwards and the safety key disengaged. Bloop Bloop! Ouch!! I guess that I need to shorten the safety cord. Oh well, I used to be a tigger and I always will be one at heart.