Yesterday, something new happened.
The toddler went to bed half an hour earlier than usual.
As the Scientist was putting him into the crib, I asked, if we could go out for a walk. (To keep up with my monthly goal) The scientist said yes. I got into my tracks, t-shirt, socks and reebok shoes. I threw a sweat shirt over. It was chilly outside, and I don’t want to get sick by being stupid and running in the wintry (read : also smoggy) Bangalore night.
The Scientist came in shorts, tee and berks. I find that my left foot still hurts (after the fracture before baby’s birth) when I wear shoes. Slip on foot wear is ok. But when I wear shoes, I can still feel the pain. But we went on.
I had to run to keep up with the Scientist’s fast paced walking. I was comfortable, running in relatively darker, lesser populated parts of the road. We passed a night club. A couple got out of a taxi with their may be 4 year old son, and entered the pub. The Scientist and I stared at each other in disbelief, and then walked on.
I walked a lot, and ran a little. I feel happy to be able to run. I remember how pathetic I felt about myself when I had fractured both feet one and a half years ago. Running feels particularly empowering in that context. And I felt grateful as well.
We returned home in about 40 minutes. I took the four floors up by the stairs. The Scientist took the lift. He reached first. I remembered the time, when we as children used to race the lift. Have you ever done that?
I asked the Scientist to take pictures of me, “for the record”, so as to be able to compare a month later, when I should have lost some more weight. I looked at the picture of myself. I did not feel shy, like I have been before. I have come a long way, I can tell. The picture shows progress- weigh wise, I mean. I have always shied away from photographs, with family, friends, weddings, celebrations, picnics and even with my baby. I have always hoped that I will magically become invisible. But yesterday was different. I was looking at myself objectively. I could handle what I saw. I did not want to be invisible.
Yesterday, I was probably the same weight I was at before I got pregnant with Chittu. I probably even looked younger then. But I have taught myself to change the way I think. Being fat may be ugly. But it does not make me an outcast. Or a criminal. Or a bad creation of God. The realization falls on me easily. But the journey was a hard one.