Hi all - wanted to share with you as I always do my next installment for my "Living Normal" column. I had fun writing this one. Hope all is well, where's Connie??? A Day in the Life of the Physically Fit Morning. I rise and dress, anticipating my jaunt through neighborhoods that will not stir for hours. I hit the pavement and jog steadily along the edge of some of the most beautiful rural countryside in Connecticut, the rhythmic flap flap flap of my feet accompanied only by bird song. The morning is my time. I realize that in the nearly four years since my gastric bypass surgery I have come to take this ritual for granted and have settled into a routine. Today I shift my thinking toward celebrating my ability to move and push on, harder and more determined to break a sweat. Four miles later I return home, winded and sore and satisfied with my effort. Life is good. Afternoon. With a light hold on the reins, I slip my foot into the stirrup and effortlessly lift my body into the air, swinging my right leg over the saddle and then settle deep into it. Marcel, a massive 17 hand-high quarter horse, does not move until he is asked to do so. I gather the reins with equal distribution between both hands and with a gentle prod of my heels, ask Marcel to move forward. He complies, a willing partner used to the give and take of my shifting body weight: a squeeze of the lower leg urges him to press forward, while pressure from the inner thighs requires him to slow or halt. For the next hour, I communicate to my giant equine friend by constricting and easing various muscles throughout my body. Through a steady process of tension and release, Marcel and I work through the gaits until we are both dripping with sweat under the August sun. I dismount with the litheness of a ballerina and pat Marcel on his flank, a gesture of gratitude for his hard work. I am sore and satisfied with my effort. Life is good. Evening. The air is heavy with humidity as I lower myself into the hull of my kayak and push forward into the deepening waters of the Mansfield Hollow Dam. To the east, a summer storm gathers with its half-hearted threats of heat lightening and rumbles of thunder. My husband shouts for me to stay close to shore; I dig in, picking up speed as the oars dip and rise and deftly cut through the still waters. With each pull, I feel the muscles of my abdomen tighten to aid my powerful strokes. I cruise through the water, torpedo-like, reveling in wonder at the strength that surges through my fit body. The sky darkens, the advancing storm more threatening now and I hear the smallness of Jim's voice calling for me to return to shore. I stop for a moment to appreciate the solitude as I sit alone in the middle of open water. Resting the oars along the top of my kayak, I lift my arms, bending at the crooks of my elbows. My biceps offer a well defined bulge, a tribute to my physical strength and health. I close my eyes and try to visualize myself four years earlier in a body that was so burdened by fat I could barely move. I could not walk, let alone jog; I was unable to stand close to a horse for fear of not being able to get out of harms way; getting on a boat, let alone inside a kayak, was a fantasy. So many years lost to me yet none of it matters in the face of what I've gained these past few years. Jim's voice, more urgent now, lulls me out of my reverie and I look toward where he stands on the distant shore. Rain begins to fall and thunder pops through air that is heavy with the smell of ozone. Living Normal for me is not about movement; it is about the ability to move. As if transplanted, my heart is beating strongly and healthily in a body that is for the most part, fit and firm. Once again, my strong arms begin to pitch me forward until I run my kayak aground and scramble into my husband's arms. I am sore and satisfied with my effort. Life is very, very good. May you find peace in the strength that is Living Normal.