Posts Tagged ‘exercise’

Each day I take a walk by myself here in Delhi. Mostly at a local park named Lodi.

I try and give the Fitbit some action. But I also sit and do a lot of watching. There is always something going on here. More than twenty types of birds. Hawks swooping down with their unique scream agitating the crows. It’s a cacophony that the forty young deaf people doing some type of team bonding in the middle of the field cannot hear. Soccer/football playing. Family photo sessions. Picnics. People working out on exercise equipment. Contortionists in the yoga section.

Starting to see some of the same people each day. An old fellow with what appears to be a radio in his hand. A guy walking a Bull Terrier just like Spuds Mackenzie-except black. Too many young lovers to count. Not sure if they are same ones each day. An elderly man who is undergoing chemotherapy walking with a cane and a young assistant. He wears a tweed jacket that is too big for him and a black Greek fisherman’s woolen cap. A guy playing the flute on a bench in the middle of the park.

India really is incredible. You never know what to expect. Every day is different.

See below for some of my park photos. I hope you enjoy them.


I am all for this.


Wait a second! The back of these signs. I’m getting mixed messages here.


Bird house in the middle of the park? Check out the two photo bombers.


Hundreds of these birds in the park. Never gets old.


Caught my eye. Sacred Fig. Considered a sacred tree for Hindu folks.


Very cool. Section of park that has exercise equipment for those in wheelchairs.


Not the best quality photo. Color coordinated Sikh family photo shoot.



Loved these carvings.


Hijra (transgendered folks) looking for monetary donations from people in the park.


Not sure what the colored smoke symbolised.


Lily pads.



Stepping stones.


I call this one Narcissus.



Sweet potato man. As in the potato is sweet. I am not sure about the man.





Hawks on the ground, in flight and resting in the trees.


Vendor with a lot on his mind.


Palm trees.


Spud Makenzie’s Indian cousin.


I happened upon this crew. A parakeet chowing down with three squirrels.


M for Mary.


A dog just curled up and napping away.


Seriously how does one do that?


I liked this sign. They certainly spelled it out for visitors.


The end. I slip under the chain to exit at Gate 11. Not where I entered. 🙂


Hope you all have a fabulous weekend!

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A couple of weeks ago I decided to accompany husband to his gym on a Saturday morning.

That sounds like it was initially my idea. Nope. He asked me. Then I felt guilty for immediately saying no.

He had a meeting with his trainer for a workout session. He can’t avoid training if it’s in his building and under his nose.

I don’t usually go with him (never) and it’s not really my idea of the ideal setting to cavort and the like. But I have been wanting to get out and do more with him. Spend that quality time. And, no, it’s not just because I have a high schooler, mother-in-law, her aide and a hyperactive pup in the house. Honestly, I’m not escaping.

Kidding aside, I want to spend time with him because he’s always working and/or traveling. I’m quite busy. So we need to grab the moments when we can.

So, against all better judgement, I said, “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll just wait in the car for you and start deleting some of my 7000 old emails or something. I won’t be bored. Promise.”

Rolling of eyes.

So, I go. And I find me a treadmill and I get going. So much better than the stress test at the hospital where I was looking like a sweaty little lab animal or a monkey heading to space with all those leads sprouting from my body.

I watch television. I don’t usually view it at home so it was something different. I enjoyed it for about half an hour.

Then HE comes back. I say, “Hey.”

He says, “Come on over here.”

I reply, “I’m good.”

He cajoles, “C’mon, Mare, come here for a few minutes.”

Deep sigh from me. I don’t want to!

Leads me to Edie. Pronounced Eddie. I am glaring at poor Edie. Husband is like, “Whoa, settle down there. He didn’t do anything.”

So, I turn my head and glare at him.

Long story short. I go through the motions. Literally. Squats, sit ups, lifting barbells, etc. I knew it all. I used to attend a “boot camp” in Dallas with one of my girlfriends. I think it was called,”Paying to Get Beat Up” or something similarly masochistic.

So, I also knew what the first session would feel like. Afterwards. For about a week.

I mean, I avoid these (see photo below) like the plague for many reasons. One being that I am afraid I will actually get the plague. Secondly, is because of all that moisture on the floor. I just do not like wet and damp. Thirdly, because I will do almost anything to avoid squatting. Like I am in the middle of some God forsaken field.


Couldn’t walk for about a week. It was reminiscent of Mondays at work following beautiful New England weekends in Autumn. I remember shuffling into the office after raking and bagging tons and tons of leaves. And I saw Charlie hobbling along.

“Hey, Mr. Wiseman, how did that raking go?” I asked as I gingerly walked past him. Ben-Gay ointment wafting behind us. Then seeing three other people who could barely make it to their desks.

I am programmed to remember this stuff.

My daughter thought I was being dramatic. I wasn’t. It hurt. Almost shouted, with glee, when I reached the escalator at the mall.

And this is the reason for my post. I really hurt. No one could be expected to move muscles, that aren’t being used, close to one hundred times and not hurt. We all know the process in muscle-building.

Back to my point. When I hurt I am not myself. Not a baby. Just realistic. I cannot do the things I normally do. Therefore, I am wasting time. Days, in fact.

Plenty of time slips though our hands in which we have no control. Childbirth and hospital stays. Illnesses. Jet lag. The list goes on and while we might have some control (don’t get pregnant, don’t travel) we all know time flies in this very short life.

From now on, I will be mindful of pushing myself too hard. And if I am not, I just need to remember (see photo below) that I was hurting so badly that I actually thought this looked quite attractive. Not from the squatting standpoint. Oh, no. I was actually contemplating standing up like a man and seeing how successful that would be. That’s how much it hurt.


Note to self. I know me. Better than anyone in the world. I just need to listen to myself.  A little more often.


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