My body says she has had enough of this nonsense. Oh sure, she was willing to go purring along for awhile, but today that all stopped. When I woke up this morning, everything ached. My tummy looked and felt like I was seven months pregnant. The scale said I’d gained two pounds, but I know that it was something else. Maybe it was weighing the dark anxiety inside me. So I crawled back in bed, and slept fitfully, waking occasionally to nibble on dried apricots and sip cold tea.
Then I got a telephone call with phenomenally good news and I practically sprung from the bed. Mind you, I still felt pretty puny. It wasn’t that this malaise was all in my head, but that the lightening of my heart made the physical discomfort easier to bear. I stood in the shower for 40 minutes– God Bless our wonderful water heater, and climbed into black tights, black skirt, black sweater, brushed my hair and went about the day.
But still I was (am) moving gingerly, and not finding nearly enough steps in the day. But I am not getting on the treadmill tonight. I understand when the carcass needs careful handling, and this is one of those times. I don’t know what ails me– and I hope I am better tomorrow as we are headed for Lexington, Kentucky, where I hope to spend much of the afternoon walking from the paddock to trackside at Keeneland.
We must take care of ourselves.
Target number is the ridiculous 64.8. Steps crawled 1586. Consumed: half a cup dried apricots, two cups watermelon, two scrambled eggs, slice of roast ham, one strawberry, six ounces of root beer and two-thirds of a chicken pot pie.