Move you’ve got to move, move. Run, Run, Run!!!

I am admittedly out of shape. Ten years in a high stress newsroom with an unlimited candy supply has made me a little soft around the edges. Also, in my former neighborhood, I had an addiction to cabs. My cab rides became a social thing, as I became friendly with the drivers. It was a way of keeping my hand on the pulse of the neighborhood. This is what I told myself anyway.

When I left the job in May, I decided I was going to be a little less soft around the edges. My current neighborhood is perfect place to tone up. In Washington Heights everything is either up or down a hill. My little legs were going to be tone in no time. Well, maybe not no time. The first week away from the job I went out to get groceries and as I was hauling them back up the hill, an old woman with a walker threatened to pass me. I wasn’t having it, so I sped up and lapped her. I am not going to be fitness shamed by an octogenarian with a walker. Petty…

Unlike my candy addiction, my fitness goals are not something I stick to. I have weeks I walk everyday and other weeks I sit on my couch ordering mofongo. As I sit in my shameful, carbed out coma, I promise tomorrow will be better and then it isn’t.

The other day, I was rushing to get to the post office before it closed. I still haven’t conquered my lateness, so I got a Lyft down the hill. The only way I could justify taking a cab, was to promise myself that I had to walk the long way home through Fort Tryon Park. I made it to the post office with just two minutes to spare, but I made it, handled my business. As I was leaving the post office, I looked longingly at the short cut and then I made myself cross the street towards the park.

Once at the park, there is an easy route and one that is basically like climbing Mount Everest. I decided to take Mount Everest. Fitness will be mine!!!! As I am climbing, I pass two teenagers making out. They stop and stare because I am breathing heavily and sweating profusely. I hadn’t even come to the first fork in the path and I wanted to quit. I kept going, sweating and cursing under my breath.

A few minutes later, I reach the first fork. I pause and pretend I am not sure which way to go. I put on my confused face, so if I encounter anyone, they will think, “Oh, she’s lost.” Not, “Oh the little beggar is out of shape.”  I regain my breath, a little, and continue. My heavy breathing starts back up as the incline gets increasingly sharp. My body is contorted into a 45 degree angle as I climb. I see a man in his 60’s power walking down the hill in an 80’s parachute track suit.  Clearly he is in better shape than I and is smiling as he power walks. My face looks like someone is beating me. As we get close to each other, he says.

Man: MOVE! You’ve got to move, move.

He marches in place as he shouts words of encouragement. I am embarrassed obviously. My charade is blown. My own personal charade, no one else was fooled.

Me: I am going

Man: Run Run!!!!

Me:Yes got it.

His encouragement is annoying now, so I haul ass up the rest of the hill. I hear him screaming Move, Move as I turn the corner. I guess his plan worked. He embarrassed me enough, that I ran up the hill. I almost collapsed at the top, but I didn’t.

I walked the rest of the way home, slowly. As a reward for my efforts, I ordered mofongo. This fitness thing may never be mine.