One of the biggest adjustments to living in Florence is the fact that I walk everywhere.....and I mean everywhere. Every day I walk several kilometres, and that is on top of what I have come to call the "run from hell" that I do five mornings a week. While one can take a bus around the city, I am not sure why anyone does as the traffic in the streets is so congested that I am sure that it is faster to walk than to travel on an overcrowded bus that slowly makes it's way through the streets.
I recently had friends stay with me and I warned them prior to coming about the walking and the importance of bringing comfortable shoes. They had no idea what they were in store for. Florence is not the place to bring your sexy high heals. After just 24 hours here my friends' legs ached in ways that I don't think they have ever experienced, judging by the moans. And it didn't get much better as the days passed. I must admit that I took sick pleasure in watching them go through the painful adjustment that I did when I first arrived. The only thing that made them feel better was our ritual glass of Prosecco every afternoon. I think that this is the only holiday that they have had where they have actually lost weight, despite indulging in the Italian culture and by that I mean the gelato, the wine, the pastries, the hot chocolate, the pasta and I cannot forget the mouth watering pizza. Not a day went by that my girlfriends did not have a comment or two about all the walking. Well, actually it was probably more like four or five comments a day. I would just chuckle and keep on going, and they would follow behind me like little ducklings. Every once and a while I would hear Brenda utter the words, "Dorothy we are not in Kansas".
When my friends arrived they immediately noticed that I have lost weight. Why is it that when you look at yourself in the mirror each day you don't notice something good like weight loss, but we are sure to notice all of our flaws? It is funny that when I stopped being so obsessed about my weight, and stopped stepping on the scale each day, that is when I really began to lose weight. Over the past year I have really tried to consciously shift my thinking from focusing on my weight to focusing on taking care of me and being good to me. Women are horrible for not taking the time to take care of themselves. It is like we are programmed to give all of ourselves to others, and if we do anything for ourselves then somehow that is being selfish. If we do dare to take some time for ourselves oh how the guilt overtakes us, and we quickly get back into our thinking that there is something in the day that just has to get done for someone else, as if the world would come to an end if it didn't. Taking time for ourselves to be good to ourselves seems to easily become unimportant. Being a good wife, or partner or mother should not mean not being good to ourselves. We can and should have both.
My friend Cathy commented, shortly after arriving, that I have a sparkle in my eyes that she has not seen before. As she shared in my life here in Florence she came to understand why. Living here is just emotionally and physically healthier for me. While I am sure that this sparkle is in part a result of replacing a life full of stress and chaos with faith, hope and certainty that good things are to come, I also think that this sparkle in my eyes is as a result of now taking time to take care of me like I never have ever before in my life. While I still have to live in the "real" world and I wake up each morning with responsibilities to face (Oh, how I wish I would win the lottery), I for the past year have made it a priority to take time each day to be good to me. Here in Florence this may be as simple as taking the time to walk to the market to buy fresh vegetables and talking to the venders who have come to know my face and insist that it is now time that I only speak Italian to them. My butcher affectionately refers to me as "Made in Canada", my usual vegetable and fruit venders now throw in a little something extra as a present and my cheese man calls me Miss America. I use to hate grocery shopping, but now it feels like a visit with friends. And somehow the food just tastes better because of this experience. The oranges are juicier, the basil is full of flavour and the chicken is moister. Perhaps it is because of the food being grown locally, rather than being shipped in from some far off country, but I also think that remembering the smiling face of the vender that you bought it from earlier in the day somehow magically just makes it taste better. And I deceptively work in exercise as I stroll through the beautiful streets with my backpack full of food on my back. I am of the belief that the best exercise is when we don't even know we are doing it. I am the kind of person that when I am conscious that I am doing exercise then I immediately hate every minute of it. The more distractions from that bad, very bad, "E" word the better. Walking the kilometre to buy food here just somehow does not seem as painful as when I use to run around and around, like a mouse on a wheel, the same boring blocks back in Canada. This is especially the case if I see my handsome Giorgio in my travels.
So while I may not be in Kansas any more, I could not help but think as slipped on my new size 7 skirt that something about my "Italian Diet" sure is agreeing with me. And I did take the time to look in the mirror and notice the beautiful woman looking back at me. That is after I jumped up and down with joy. I am excited to share my life here with the people that I love as they come to visit me. Don't forget to bring comfortable shoes, and I promise that you will not put on any weight.
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