Walk of life

First of all, let me just make clear that this is not one of my "new things," but instead a random, stream-of-consciousness commentary that will occasionally appear in this blog.

Today was a beautiful fall day, and that made me sad. Because typically, beautiful fall days are great days for running. And I can't do anything of the sort.

So I was sitting around whining about how badly I wanted to lace up my Adidas Brevards (sob) when my husband, who has sat through many a whining session, said to me matter-of-factly: "Why don't you just take a walk?"

Although I wasn't in front of a mirror at the time, I believe my expression was a more appropriate response to the suggestion, "Why don't you just take a piece of poop out of the litter box and eat it with a knife and fork?"

"A walk? I said. "Are you serious?"

Runners? We don't walk. Old ladies in sweatsuits walk. Sorority girls with "juicy" across their asses walk. But we? Walk? No way in hell.

To make a very long argument short, I did, in the end, wind up going for a walk. I laced up my running shoes, put on my dri-fit pants and shirt, got out my iPod, and walked out the door. I was bored, it was a nice day, and if I stayed inside, someone was probably going to get hurt.

Coming from someone who's been doing this since I was about a year old, let me just say: walking is weird. I mean, walking to the bathroom or to get the mail, which I do every day, is pretty normal. But walking deliberately is a totally different experience. I couldn't really figure out how fast to go, how hard to swing my arms, or whether one of the neighbors would ask me if I needed a ride.

Eventually, though, my brain just shut off and I...walked. And you know what? I actually kind of enjoyed it. I didn't really get out of breath or get my heart rate up, but 30 minutes later, when I returned to the homestead, I actually felt like I'd gotten a little workout. It was no 20-mile trail run, but it was better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.