Last weekend, I put on a pair of skis for the first time in 22 years.  The last time I went skiing, I came home with a cast that ran from my toes all the way up above my knee.  Since I was only 12 at the time, still growing with a spiral break on my tibia, I wore that cast for a long time, and then hobbled around on crutches for even longer.

My trip out in the snow last weekend was a safe one, primarily due to the fact that I was cross-country skiing, so the hills were less frequent and easily manageable (not that I didn’t still fall a few times).  Still, even with all the encouragement in the world, I was terrified.  But, I wasn’t afraid of falling or getting hurt.  I wasn’t even afraid of being far behind everyone else in my group.  Instead, I was crippled with a feeling of not being able to do something that others can do so easily.  I was sad that I had let this fear take me over for such a long time, and I was mad at myself for waiting all these years to try something new.

Now, I likely won’t find myself on a pair of skis again this season, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep sheltering myself from plunging into new activities and new risks.  I need to quit pretending to be active and actually become active.  Of course, blogging about this won’t change much, but it is a form of announcement that holds me accountable to change my old habits and get moving.

I’ve lost seven pounds since the new year, which makes me happy.  But the activity part of my new year is lacking.  In March, I vow to start moving.

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