I have become that which I used to hate – a fast walker.
When I was apartment hunting yesterday, I drug my mom along to have another set of eyes in case I missed anything like leaky pipes or holes in the walls. I’m not too observant about that sort of stuff. I’m the kind of person who will open the refrigerator, ask where the cheese is, only to have someone point out that it’s right in front of my nose. My nose isn’t even that big, so I can’t claim that it obstructs my view.
We got out of the car and I was halfway to the rental office when I turned around to see my mom was lagging at least 2 or 3 yards behind me. Mom weighs about 20 pounds more than me and is 30 years older. I then had flashbacks to every time I would be walking with a skinny person and get pissed because they were walking fast enough to win the Iron Man triathlon. It was one of the most annoying things about being a fat person. Everyone else seemed to walk as fast as roadrunners on speed and think absolutely nothing of it while I’d be huffing and puffing just to keep half their pace. I was the semi-truck straining to pull my load uphill and they were the Volkswagon Bug passing me carelessly on the left.
But all those hours on the treadmill must have changed my pace, or elves have been stretching my legs out in my sleep, because I realized now I’m the one zipping around at the speed of light. I noticed it again when I was walking around the mall yesterday and passing people. I am a fast walker! Just chalk this up as realization number 57 about the multiple ways my life is changing as I lose weight.