My heel hurts like a bastard today, and I’ll tell you why.
The latest dreadful idea I had was to start getting some exercise. I am currently obese, and although I know that isn’t going to be cured with exercise, I still want to get regular exercise for the health and stress benefits. I’m working on the obese problem with a health coach.
In my opinion, the biggest drawback of being fat is that I physically can’t do everything I want. I don’t care about my appearance much. I had a good time being cute and thin in my 20s and 30s before I had these kids, back when my husband and I could stay out all night and spend way more money on drinks and concerts and all that stuff, and our biggest worry was getting home in time to let the dogs out. The only thing I miss from those days is the peace and quiet, which is a rare commodity in our house these days, but I digress.
Being fat can seriously put the brakes on your activity level. Case in point: the ice skating class I took this winter. I have heard that ice skating hurts your feet even if you aren’t fat. But Jesus H. Christ, when you are fat, it’s pretty torturous. I had fun at practices when I could skate around at my leisure, and the temperature in the rink was an added bonus because I hate to sweat. Cruising at a speed with the cool air on my face was the good part. Standing still and trying to pay attention to the instructor while my feet felt like they were dying slow deaths was the torturous part.
Plus, that whole falling thing is worse when you weigh more. I didn’t fall much because I was good on roller skates back in the day, and ice skating is similar except your feet can slip out from under you in any direction instead of just front or back. But when I did fall, even though I have extra padding, that was no fun.
I was relieved when my daughter said she was done with ice skating, because I could be done with it too. I learned to get around on ice: Mission accomplished. I may go back and take another class when I lose some weight, but losing weight is definitely a prerequisite.
I did a team step-counting challenge with some coworkers over the past month just to make sure I didn’t turn into a total slacker post-ice-skating. Walking is great, but now that I live in the midwest where maybe five days out of the whole winter don’t involve rain, snow, freezing your ass off, or both, walking is hit or miss.
So when my daughter decided she wanted to try a dance class, I thought Hmm. I used to dance. I loved it in fact. I stopped when I was pregnant with my daughter because I thought I was too fat then. Silly me! That was thirty pounds ago. Thirty pounds that might not have crept on if I hadn’t thought I was too fat to dance.
Now I really am too fat to dance. But I’m doing it anyway.
Last night I survived my first Irish dance lesson. Yes, isn’t that even more ludicrous? I’m not just dancing. I’m doing it hoppy, skippy, let’s-all-murder-our-feet style! Isa saw Irish dancing on The Wiggles and wanted to try it. When I was signing her up, there was a discount for more than one dancer in the same family. I need regular exercise, I thought to myself. Something fun. I do like Irish music…I could help Isa practice.
And so it began.
There were only two other women there last night, both probably half my age and weight, but you know what? They were nice girls. The instructor was, too, and that makes all the difference. If they’d given me that “OMFG what are you doing here, Fat Old Lady?” vibe I might not have been able to go through with it.
One of the girls had a cute little t-shirt on that said Irish Princess, and halfway through the class I nearly gave myself a giggling fit when I noticed it and thought I’m probably too old to be an Irish Princess. What would my t-shirt say? And there we have the title of this post.
Today my heel hurts, but I feel lighter than I have in a long time, and now I have a reason to lose weight other than all that “your health/gonna die sooner/of diabetes” negativity. I’m going to learn how to dance a jig! Then a reel. And eventually I hope to work my way up to owning a pair of those adorable clonky shoes.