Quite surprisingly, I didn’t die, snap some long unused tendon in my leg, fall and bust my head on the concrete, or hyperventilate or pass out..
Not so surprisingly, I did feel very self conscious about what to do with my arms. Nothing felt natural so I alternated between pumping them at my sides and the limp-wrist/kangaroo position. Neithe one felt natural. I did sweat like a hooker in church despite the 60 degree weather. And most importantly, I did make sure that there was not a soul around to see me wigglin’, jigglin’, huffin’ and puffin’. Actually, there may have been many souls around me - I was in a local cemetery which I found pretty humorous seeing as how if I had dropped dead I would have been in the right place.
I am feeling proud of my little accomplishment. Two months ago I seriously dreaded walking from my front door to the end of our street. And more than the actual physical effort, I am happy that I have grown mentally to the point where I was willing to try.
It also brought me much joy to tell my 8 year old son. I knew it would make him laugh because he often tries to get me to run (unsuccessfully) just so he can see what it looks like for me to move that fast. He’s convinced that it would be one of the funniest things he’s ever seen. His repeated, “nuh-uh’s” and “no way, no you didn’ts” while giggling made it worthwhile. Like I told him, maybe one day I’ll outrun him in a good old fashioned foot race. But before I do that, I should probably figure out what to do with my arms.