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At the risk of sounding cliched, I’m a pretty firm believer in the notion of “when life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” After all, when I busted my ankle four years ago, I parlayed my anger and frustration into a sustained drive to get into shape and lose about a quarter of my body weight.
For most of the past month, I was forbidden to lift weights, dance or do yoga. And forget kickboxing, jumping rope or other vigorous guest-starring players in my fitness repertoire. While my surgery only resulted in three days of zero activity, I didn’t exactly bounce back with a bang. My daily walks finally reached their usual length and speed this week.
As someone who has struggled with weight most of her post-adolescent life, the thought of enforced inactivity (relatively speaking) made me freak out a just a little bit. I did not want to gain weight, especially after working so hard this summer to get in my most excellent shape ever. My weight gain concern was largely unfounded, as it turns out. I’m happy (and yes, relieved) to report that I have not gained a single pound (I might even have lost one), and am wearing my skinny jeans. And if my re-inaugural weight lifting session yesterday was for real, then I have lost little strength during my hiatus.
This state of events has made me think quite a bit about eating, exercise and weight. Like, how maybe moderate exercise and a sensible-but-not-stingy amount of calories are sufficient to maintain a healthy weight. Like, maybe I could (gulp) actually get away with exercising less than I used to…for the long haul.