I never had those wonderful, energized, and reduced stress feelings. Instead, I had the desperate feeling of reaching for an imaginary oxygen mask to avoid suffocation. Exhausted and barely able to drive home was the other common side effect I routinely experienced. Is it any wonder I’ve never been a fan of working out? “Keep going for at least two weeks – you’re shedding toxins and that’s why you feel so bad.” They couldn’t use that line on me after three months of regular workouts at the gym, so whatever the cause, I didn’t appreciate it.

Short walks to the grocery store were a necessary trade off – if I didn’t walk, I didn’t eat. It was a pretty simple equation with obvious consequences, and although Momma didn’t raise no fool, she at least taught me how to weigh the lesser of two evils when it came to picking between “bad” and “worse”.

On my first walk, I got a cat call whistle from a pick up truck – totally unwarranted because I weigh one hundred and <cough!> pounds, but I knew at some point I’d run into some wise guy that would pull that stunt. Granted, it felt a little embarrassing and slightly good – even if it was to make fun of me. No, don’t even ask at this point how much a cough weighs…I’m not going to tell you! People who know me in person know approximately how much it is. When I get to the end of the line, I will reveal the starting number.

Once I heard God’s voice, the whole game plan changed overnight. I knew I would have to get back in the saddle and begin exercising. There’s something in the overall picture I cannot reconcile in my own brain. I wouldn’t exercise for myself, and I wouldn’t exercise in an attempt to look perfect to attract a mate. Why God’s voice turned out to be such a motivator this time around, I don’t know, but I find myself struggling to answer the question.

The first couple of walks to the store were for selfish motivations; the walks that followed were for exercise. It started simply enough – I would walk down the alley and around the duck pond and when I ran out of breath, I would take a rest and then head home. The best laid plans often have a way of being written by someone else, as I was to discover.

First I made it down the alley without losing my breath then I made it around the duck pond. I was feeling good, but not sure how long it would last, so I kept going, figuring I would make the next left turn and head back towards home. As I came up on the first left turn, I realized I still had the energy, so I kept going. After awhile, I found myself walking a lot further than I had anticipated I could. Laurie, a good friend of mine, came over to help me take care of something and I asked her to drive the route to measure it. I figured it was maybe two and a half miles, but to my surprise, it turned out to be five miles!

I honestly didn’t think I had that kind of strength in me. The next day, I tried it again, and for my effort I was rewarded with nature’s gift: my first blister. At this point in time I’ve walked twenty miles over the measured trail, and I’m guessing another six miles over a new path I need to ask Laurie to drive for me with her trip odometer set. It doesn’t take long to shed the tender foot syndrome, thankfully, or else I would’ve given up with all the blisters I’ve created.

My goal is to walk 35 miles a week, which is good cardiovascular exercise to start getting in shape with. I’m already feeling my low back, legs, and butt gaining strength. There are times when I just don’t feel I can walk another step – my feet hurt, my leg sockets beg for me to take a break, and I can feel my blisters growing in size. When I’m tempted to complain and grumble, thoughts that aren’t my own pop into my head to encourage me.

• I am glad to know I am capable of feeling pain – many who are paralyzed wish for this.
• I know I have the strength to walk, while many are trapped in bed with debilitating health situations that drain away the quality of their lives.
• I think about St. Paul ’s long journeys over thousands of miles, wearing only sandals, and I am grateful for my beat up sneaker friends and the socks I am blessed to own. It’s more than what St. Paul had!

It’s all a matter of perspective. You can choose to whine about the lemons you’ve been handed, or learn how to make lemon aide. It’s not easy to try and rise above your circumstances, but eventually the view makes it all worth while.

If you don’t like trying to find all the segments of this series, you can locate the links to them here and they will return you the exact spot on the socyberty.com site.

quazen.com articles by this writer can be found here

socyberty.com articles can be located here

relijournal.com articles are here

picable.com photographic images are here