The Royal Mile
In Edinburgh, Scotland nestled between two castles, is a road called, “The Royal Mile.” In Alabama, I also have a, “Royal Mile” and was determined to walk it every day. Being royally fluffy, and with the holidays nipping at the heels of my walking shoes, the time to get in shape was now or never. I also knew with my personality, I had to ban every excuse imaginable from my mind. No more Ms. Nice Gal … I said to myself, “I\’m fluffy; therefore I\’ll walk.” It was that simple.
I take it back because nothing, nothing is ever simple with da Queen here. Nada.
The first day of my new regime was tailor-made. Temps at 70 degrees, light wind, and sunny. Perfect. I walked the Royal Mile hard for about 20-25 minutes. What a feeling! Upon returning home, I was so invigorated that I changed all the sheets on the beds, washed two loads of clothes, mopped the floors, and dusted the furniture. Not to worry, I copied all the notes guests had left in the dust. By the way, I loved the short story written on the dining room table. Call me, I may have found you a publisher.
After all that exercise, I just knew that day two would bring more of the same. I was destined for skinny. What I found out; however, was that bodies can and will rebel when asked to do things they haven\’t done in a long, long time. Holygramole! What was I thinking?
I remember waking up and my eyelashes hurt. I couldn\’t feel anything but new pain no matter which way I turned. Ick! Ouch! Eeek! Ouch! I sounded like the Jolly Green Giant when discovering Jack in his castle. You know, when he said, “Fee Fi Fo Fum … I feel like crap, what HAVE I done?” WHAT? Okay, maybe I\’m getting my fairy tales mixed up, but you get my drift.
Day two consisted of mainly crawling from room to room, sitting in awkward positions while working at my computer, and soaking in long, hot baths. My walking shoes stared at me every time I entered my bedroom. Problem solved; I stayed out of the bedroom. At the end of the day, I was just beginning to feel somewhat normal again when the phone rang. I wanted to hide under the bed but couldn\’t bend over. Caller ID flashed my “You can do it!” friend\’s cell number. I call her Pollyanna, reincarnated. She calls to show undying support, but in case you\’re contemplating ignoring your latest health kick, she\’s ready with reminders about your big old fluffy self.
I picked up the phone, began breathing like someone having good sex and practically yelled into the phone, “Hey, ahhha … ooohhhh…ahhhh … can\’t talk, outta breath, … oohhhh … shhheeee … working out … wooooo … call you LAT … aaaheeeoooo … ER, okay?
She said, “Open the front door. I can see you through the window … tubby.”
I have GOT to get new friends.
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