Yesterday, I couldn't tear myself away from the TV. Jack wanted to avoid it all.
At noon, Jack announced he was going on a bike ride. I thought terrific, I can be alone. But as I was thinking that, I also started thinking about hitting the grocery store and buying everything I didn't want to eat. I knew his bike ride would be at least two hours, plenty of time for me to feed my sorrow with food.
Without warning, I got myself off the couch and told him I was going with him. What? He was headed to the bike trail, planning on doing a 15-mile loop that is anthing but flat. A 15-mile ride in Hilton Head -- the last time I was on a bike -- is a snap. Here, it's a feat.
When we hit our first hill, my immediate thought was to walk. Hey, it's still exercise. Then I thought of the people of 9/11 who found courage deep within themselves that day that they didn't know they had. I thought of the thousands who died, and those first responders who are suffering so from breathing in Ground Zero's toxic dust. So I offered my pain and discomfort up to them all. It took me longer than it should have, but when I reached the top of the hill, still on the bike, I had tears flowing down my cheeks. I felt great.
Not at peace. But not giving in gave me hope. My exercise pain is nothing compared to what all those brave people went through 10 years ago. It's time for me to stop being such a wimp and whip myself into shape.
I never went grocery shopping yesterday. Talk about achievements.
No comments:
Post a Comment