For one day…

I thought about doing this as one of my goals to add at the beginning of the month, but at this point, I fear I’ll fail miserably. I don’t want to set myself up to fail, so I’m going to make the attempt for one day.

Not long ago, I posted that I was working on eating healthier. A friend gave me her handout on the O+ blood diet. There’s the theory that those with a specific blood type do better on some foods than others. For myself, I’ve never quite bought into something so specific. However, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

I cut ham from my diet and replaced it with more lean beef, chicken, and turkey. I don’t follow it exactly. Blackberries are something I’m “supposed” to avoid. I don’t think so.

I’m not actually losing weight, but neither am I gaining weight. More importantly, I actually feel full all the time. Really. It’s… unexpected. It also isn’t the point of this post.

Yesterday, I did something huge. I removed the physical therapy sheets I had taped to my mirror. They were taped right in the middle of the mirror, 8×11 sheets of paper.

I avoid mirrors. I hate mirrors. The reflection of the scarred face, wrinkled neck, dumpy body…

Yeah. It’s like that.

I’ve read about other bloggers doing this recently, and thought, “Oh, I couldn’t.”

Time to shut up and buck up.

Today, I will look in the mirror and think/say “I love my body.” *snort*

To help me in this effort are the following observations: My body has put up with a lot of abuse, dished out and self-inflicted, for over 50 years and keeps going. My body carries almost 90 lb more than it should, every day, all day, year in and year out. Despite the abuse, my body patiently repairs itself, again and again and again. My body takes me for lovely walks in the sunshine and the rain, on cloudy days and along the beach. My body enjoys yummy food. My body has attended conferences and small gatherings. My body has taken me half way around the world both ways. My body saw me through a summer in Yellowstone, 16 months in Thailand, a summer in England with a hop to Holland and France, around the country on various trips, and through every single day without fail. My body makes it possible for me to write stories, read books, and visit with friends. My body allowed me to cuddle my dog and ride my horse, clean my fury children, feed them, and care for them, even to share their last breath with them. My body has played the piano, created clothes, sewn quilts, learned calligraphy, and cook. Though my body can’t dance anymore, it remembers the energy of a fast well-executed swing dance, the fun of square dancing, the fluid grace of the waltz, and the gentle sway of a slow song. My body has climbed the steps of the Eiffel Tower, to the top of the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Wat Arun, mountains, castles, and palaces. My body has ridden in a speedboat, buses, trains, a Lamborghini, trolley, subway, double decker bus, British taxi, paddleboat, canoe, rowboat, cable car, wagon, and the ferry crossing from Calais back to England so I could see the awe-inspiring white cliffs of Dover. My body has eaten curried chickens’ feet, pigs ear, rice and mangos with coconut milk, ngoc, crumpets, Yorkshire pudding (which isn’t pudding), fish and chips, Italian cooked by an Italian who knows how to cook, bread hot from the oven with homemade jam, freshly caught trout fried in butter over an open fire, cake cooked in an orange rind, corn fresh out of the garden good enough to eat raw, grapes I picked from the vine, broccoli and squash I planted, tomatoes I cultivated, strawberries I nurtured, and so much more. My body has cooked six-course French gourmet meals and enjoyed delicious meals with amazing, wonderful people. My body is scarred and imperfect, but it is truly awesome. I love my body.