I would like to give credit where credit is due.
Today I got home a little earlier than normal and I am getting ready to go to my parents’ house for a week to spend Christmas with my family. So I am cleaning, doing laundry, taking out garbage and recycling, and all of this requires me to leave my apartment several times. Each time I left my apartment I ran into (sometimes literally) one of my neighbours.
This woman has her never-been-outside-bright-white Velcro walking shoes done up tightly as she walks purposefully up and down the hall. I won’t lie; the first time I saw her I thought she was being creepy and just nosing around. I felt really awkward as I double checked that my apartment door was locked behind me.
So the next time I walked through the hall I stopped to say hi. She told me with a big smile that she was getting her workout in for the day. When I asked her how many lengths of the hallway she walks, she said “Oh I would go crazy if I counted!” which seems funny to me because walking lengths of a short hallway doesn’t seem anything except monotonous, counting or not. She went on to tell me that she sets time goals and then she just walks. I mentioned she try the stairs but her response was that she was waiting until she felt more confident with her balance. Maybe, someday.
I have clients who think that once they pay for their sessions, they have invested in their health. They will show up late, come inconsistently, or complain their way through workouts. When they leave, they always say they are happy they “got their workout in”.
After my encounter with this woman (and several more as I ran up and down the stairs all night) I feel less impressed with my workout today. The gym was empty, I had no distractions, and I worked until I was smelly and grunting. For some reason though, the fact that this woman is doing 30 minutes of walking in a straight line for short lengths, with no music, and no real view; that seems more difficult.
Now if I ever miss a workout I know I will hear her feet padding on the carpet as she paces by. And who knows, maybe I will join her.