I was never the sort of kid who zipped around the neighbourhood full of energy and joie-de-vie.
Not that there was a neighbourhood in the accepted sense. We lived on a corner with a school on one side, another school across the road that took up a whole block, and a student residence on the other corner. We did have neighbours on one side, but they bred blue heelers who definitely didn’t welcome visitors.
They also had chooks which our dog thought were fair game if they flew over the fence, so relations could become strained from time to time.
Even the shop at the far end of the block wasn’t exactly child-friendly. Or possibly anyone-friendly. Don’t know what it was, but what it wasn’t was warm and fuzzy so I didn’t go there very often, and only when strictly necessary.
Not that I felt deprived. You don’t miss what you’ve never known I was also fat. Whether I was fat because I wasn’t zippy or didn’t zip because I was fat I’ll never know, but I was happy to mosey around with my imagination and maybe the fat bit had nothing to do with anything. I thinned out eventually without being zippy before or after the transition.
My children weren’t dedicated zippers either, and none of them were fat. The older two were devoted to their imaginations and the third channelled any innate zip into ballet. The youngest might have liked to zip around more than she did, but she had arthritis from the age of four. She didn’t let it stop her playing hockey and netball, though, which was good for her spirits but not so good for the knees. (Water polo was easier on the knees, but it’s a vicious sport: she has a scar just above her eye to prove it.)
One of the benefits of never having had that physical zip is that you’re spared the misery of feeling it decline. That can be a double-edged sword though. Makes it far too easy to neglect the exercise you know you should have.
I shall now go for a walk.