Walking My Way to Nowhere

Monday, November 14, 2005

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Walking My Way to Nowhere

By J’AMY PACHECO

Is there anything more frustrating than a quest for the Great American Body?

I used to be slim. Of course, I used to be young, too, and it was great that both things occurred at the same time.

How slim was I? So slim that my nurturing sister used to drop by my apartment just to see if I’d eaten. It was not unusual for dinner to consist of a bowl of buttered rice, or a can of fruit cocktail, though, so even that didn’t put her mind at ease.

It wasn’t that I was too poor to buy real food or trying to stay thin; I just didn’t eat much. I worked long hours, traveled a lot on business, and kept busy enough that I didn’t have time to think about food. I also played about nine hours of tennis each week, which helped.

As I got older, I became more sedentary. My waistbands got tighter, my rear started taking up more and more space, and…well, you probably know how the rest of the story goes.

Over the years, my weight has gone up a little, and down a little. But when I started noticing the “ups” were giving the “downs” a run for their money, I thought it was time to start a formal fitness program.

Two years ago, my husband gave me a membership to a women’s health club for Christmas. (He didn’t get in trouble for that; he fulfilled a Christmas wish.) The concept appealed to me — all of the machines were placed in a circle, and it took only about half an hour to complete the circle twice.

If I followed their regimen, an employee assured me, it would take no time at all for my flabby upper arms to lose “that second wave good-bye.” That was all I needed to hear.

It was fun, for a while. The environment varied by the time of day I went. If I went at the crack of dawn, I exercised with the pre-dawn, serious-about-fitness, on the way to work crowd. They didn’t talk much.

If I managed a mid-day trip, I worked out with larger-than-life mommies who talked mostly about daytime television, and who liked to arrange group trips to watch talk show tapings. I didn’t have much to contribute, but I had a lot of fun listening to them.

At night, I’d find myself surrounded by women unloading their workday stress before hurrying home to start their evening routines. That was too rushed for me, and I hated walking through the parking lot alone at night.

So while I did get sort of toned and fit, after a while, I lost interest in my 30-minute workout place and waved good-bye — unfortunately, still twice — to the gym.

It didn’t take long for my waistbands to tighten up again.

A friend of mine scheduled a trip to Florida for this winter, and expressed a wish to look good for the vacation. She suggested we start walking together each morning. So we did.

We’ve been walking pretty consistently for almost two months now, and I’ve made two significant observations. One is that nothing gets dirty faster than a pair of white walking shoes. The other is that you can actually get fatter by walking.

It’s not easy getting up before the sun to walk. If you’re going to do it, there certainly should be some significant reward. There is, therefore, no justification for the fact that I’ve been walking for two months — and have gained four pounds.

It’s not like we’re sauntering around the track, or following up our walks with trips to Baskin Robbins. We might as well, though, because neither of us has lost an ounce or an inch, as far as we can tell.

That led me to the belief that we must be doing it wrong. If anybody could take something as simple as walking and do it wrong, it would be me.

So I did some research, and discovered that my friend and I can walk our way to new bodies in three weeks — if we’re willing to go the distance. That means, I read, that we should also be doing stuff like “basic body shaping” and “tummy toning” at the same time. If we’re willing to “mix and match” elements of our fitness routine, I read, we will “be speeding along toward fabulous results.” Now they tell me.

I don’t have a clue how you tone and shape while walking, but I’m going to try to find out. So far, all I’ve found is a nice recipe for crockpot beef stew burgundy, which seems strangely out of place in the fitness material I’ve was reading.

I’m going to give it another three weeks. If I don’t see a difference then, I’m going to wave good-bye to this early morning walking routine.

Twice, I suspect.