Yesterday was the area speech contest. The right person won from my area and it wasn't me, which is somewhat a relief. When they were introducing the speakers, the toastmaster asked each a question from the brief bio questionaire they had us fill out. My question was on the Marilyn Westbrook Garment Fund, which allowed me to expound a bit on Marilyn, lymphedema, and the reason/necessity for the fund.
Since I won't be giving the speech again, I thought I would append it. Without further ado, here is "That Darn Pedometer:"
My Fellow Toastmasters and Honored Guests:
As I was going out to get my paper on Valentine’s Day, I almost tripped over the box. There it was, the gift my sister had called about earlier that week. It was only later that I realized that “That Darn Pedometer” must have arrived the night before on Friday the Thirteenth.
I managed to hold off setting it up until after breakfast. But then, even though I had a critical errand to run, getting food for lunch, I found myself reading instructions and entering information into a pedometer. The last step was the difficult part. I first had to find one of my four tape measures. Then I had to use it to measure ten steps and multiply, add, divide, convert units, using what turned out to be higher math, to calculate the length of a single step. By that time the setup function had timed out so I had to reread the instructions and finally was able to enter the length of my step, two feet ten inches.
However late, I was finally on my way to get food and went as fast as I could, for any law enforcement present, that is, as fast as was legal, directly to the store and did my buying. Unfortunately, on my way home, I had my new toy with me and its pull was irresistible. Instead of turning left and heading home to put my just purchased food away, I turned right and parked in an ocean access parking lot to go walking on a paved path along the coast.
Fortunately, the day was downright chilly—for my groceries left setting in my car, that is. I, however, was cold in spite of my walking while dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, fleece vest, wind-breaking shell, and gloves. Even though I saw people substantially less clothed than I was, I had to duck into a fast food restaurant to get out of the wind to unzip enough of my layers to check my pedometer. It was disappointing. If I had turned around and walked back to my car I would have been substantially short of the 10,000 steps my sister said I should walk every day. I continued walking until I had to turn around. Another step would have taken me down a steep cliff and into the ocean.
As I had been doing on my pre-pedometer walks, I documented this hike through an occasional picture but it turns out that “that darn pedometer” has an aerobic function. To trigger it and ensure the best health benefits of walking all I had to do was walk for ten or more minutes at a pace of 120 steps, or so, per minute. Frequent picture taking stops halt the aerobic effect. This was the last hike I’ve been on where I’ve taken pictures.
When I got home, put my groceries away, and ate my late lunch, I started doubting my calibration. I remembered there was a trail nearby that had a sign up at the end that said it was exactly one mile. (Thus, my walking in and out should register as two miles on the pedometer.) Since it was “nearby,” I decided to walk to the trail. I learned three things: The trail was further away than I thought, well over a mile; the pedometer is calibrated to within 1/100ths of a mile over two miles at my stride; and my tennis shoes weren’t made for walking. I now had blisters on both heels.
The next day it was raining and my only walking was around my 1,400 square foot house. Now that I was wearing a pedometer, I found out that my steps are normally shorter indoors. Not so this day. My step was to say the least, abnormal. You know the kind of step where you realize that you are about to step in something you definitely don’t want on the bottom of your shoe so at the last moment you extend it? I no longer wear “that darn pedometer” in the house and am back to walking normally.
Since the rains didn’t let up, I decided to walk in the rain lulls if I could or in the rain if I had to. This meant that I would have to stick with paved or well-graveled walkways. After wrenching my back by stepping into a driveway cutout, I started looking down. This led to my getting whacked on my head by an overhanging branch of a small tree. I would like to say that “that darn pedometer” at least has taught me to be more aware of my surroundings, I certainly am aware of that tree and do watch for the unexpected sidewalk drop-offs, but still, it’s a baseless accusation to say that I sometimes have gotten lost in thought and have walked right by my house.
I’ve learned a few things about myself that I may not have learned without “that darn pedometer:” it takes me at least an hour and a half to walk 10,000 steps; I am willing to walk literally in circles to reach 10,000 steps (with my favorite place to do so the 95 step circle at the end of that mile trail); and I am never ever again going to drink anything with caffeine in it before I go on a walk.
(I find that I am walking to places that I never would have thought to walk to before. I find that I take the long way. I’m spending hours—walking.) Why am I dodging pummeling plants, back damaging drop-offs, and avoiding the far to frequent evidence of well-fed dogs? “That darn pedometer” makes me.
One more thing, in spite of all my complaints, it has enriched me. I’m not talking about my improved fitness, although I am fitter, I’m saying it has truly enriched me—so far I’ve found 51 cents on my hikes with it.
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