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Reboot Okay, the two-month siesta is over. I'm walking again. It was even harder to start back up this time than it was to get started in the first place. I felt horrible. My shins, calves, and back were all arguing over which hurt worse. Regardless, I walked a mile-and-a-half that first day and three days later, even though I felt like Hell, I went out again and did 2.2 miles. Now, three days after that, I'm feeling mediocre instead of lousy, and my plan is to go out and do another 2.2 miles, a frequent walk I do that takes me out to the first stoplight I come to and then back to my house. I've lost some ground, but I'm determined to make it up. Southern (Dis)Comfort Walking in the South is great for many reasons, beautiful scenery and glorious weather topping the list. Alas, there are drawbacks to walking as well. And, no, I'm not refering to the threat of being captured by a roving band of inbreds (they can be easily distracted by pointing away and shouting, "Look, it's Dale Earnhardt Junior!" No, what I'm talking about is pollen. I've got allergies, and this time of the year my nose is miserable. Pollen sloughs off the trees and bushes and coats everything with a yellow dusting. I take Loratadine for it, but I still sneeze my head off for about an hour after I get up in the morning. Usually I wake early enough to sneeze and honk it all out of me before I walk, but I woke up late this morning and when I went over to Terry's place to walk, my lungs were still trying to expel the evil dust...along with a voluminous amount of mucus. I was sneezing so much I tears popping out as well, and (of course!) I wasn't smart enough to carry tissues with me, so I had to pinch off a nostril and discharge the other one in the air. Not a pretty sight. Terry didn't laugh at me too much and we cut the walk in half so she wouldn't witness me passing a lung through my nose. I Hate Kenneth Cooper Bill Walsh lives down the street from me. Not only do we share first names, but we are both former servicemen whose once rock-hard abs are now soft as a fridge full of Jell-O. I used to be a paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne while Walsh served in the Marines. (Note: Cameron Diaz thinks "Paratroopers are so sexy!" while Larry the Cable Guy says Marines "Git 'er done!" Which would you rather be?) Walsh turned me on to a fitness test developed many years ago by Kenneth Cooper, the founder of aerobic fitness. To perform this test, you need to either run 1.5 miles or walk 3 miles as fast as you can. Then you check Cooper's chart to register what shape you are in for your appropriate age bracket. When Walsh first told me about this, he'd speed-walked his 3-mile course in 39 minutes and 13 seconds, placing him in the "superior" category. That was on my mind when I was walking this morning. I started out from my house at a brisk pace and as I neared the 1.5 mile marker I thought to myself, "Hey, you're already doing a fast walk. Why not turn around here, put on the afterburners, and see if you can smoke that old Jarhead?" I turned around at 27min 18sec, and raced for home in 23:19, cutting almost four minutes off the time from my first leg. My total time was 50:37, which for my age put me in the "Poor" category. I need to drop another 3:19 before I'd even be classified as "Fair." How depressing. I was sure I'd done better. I mean, I was pumping my arms and weeble-wobbling my ass off, but I was more than 11 minutes slower than Walsh. On the bright side, I'm sure my swishy walk gave everyone a good laugh as they headed to work this morning. Twice is Nice Terry and I went out to the Noland Trail for a 3-mile walk this morning. It was beautiful. The shaded path wove through trees, a light breeze kept us cool, and the ducks and herons were a sight to behold. I carried my good feeling home with me and a little after lunch decided, "What the heck, I'm going for another walk." I did another 4 miles walking into the center of town and back, bringing my total for the day up to 7 miles. Not only that, but I still have energy. Even I'm surprised. |