Path to Progress

The path to progress and good intentions walked
into reality.

I bought the boots.  They're actually just a sturdy hiking shoe.  They're made for walkin'.  And we are certainly do that.

When people ask what Handy Andy has been doing lately, my reply wants to be a monosyllabic "walk."  It really seems like that all that gets done.  My moderately busy body has gone from logging, at best, six miles a week to pounding out 25 to 30.  And it takes time to cover six or seven miles in an afternoon.  My previously unused muscles are so grateful to head back home, in the front door and sit while I pull off the hiking shoes and blow my nose one more time as it leaks from the chill air.

But this I know for sure as I begin my fourth week of hiking on purpose around my neighborhood, that though this may fill up a significant portion of the Things I get to do today, and though the muscles are really tired on the long-walk days, now is the best time to build a stronger body.  All the paths walked are progress.

Enough!

When a cat reaches 20 years, that's pretty much enough.  Except sometimes the cat is still alive, though senile and decrepit.  And well-loved as many cats are, they'll find their own time to leave this plane.  Same with a good dog.  Some breeds live longer than others, but when a critter is done, it's done.

Hit the road, Girl!

Now, my hiking boots, on the other hand, are supposed to last forever.  At least that's how my calculations go.  Bought them in 1997, hiked the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, climbed nearly to the top of Kilimanjaro in Africa, stomped around the Northwest a little, loaned them to my daughter.  But they're only 15, with low mileage to boot.  Am certain they could last to 20.

Major failure all around the sole

What brings all these numbers, and memories, and animals stories to the fore is my family-is-gone-hiking-I'll-get-in-shape-while-they're-away routine.  The first day out, I wore a fancy-pants name brand pair of walking shoes with no socks, and came home with a hot-spot on one toe.  Next day on the road dealing with the dog, the dog's pack, and my pack (turns out it was 42 pounds, oofta!), I pulled the trusty old boots off the shelf.  The fit is perfect, soothing to the foot, supportive, strong, but not too much so.  I love them.

Shwopppers instead of heels on my boots.  

Other than the massive weight on my back, it was a fine walk and first of the Things I get to do today, though I noticed a funny sound toward the end of the walk each time my heels came down.  Thought maybe I had a rock stuck in the tread.  About a quarter mile from home, the flapping began.  The whole sole was cracking off the shoe of the  boot, with the heel completely separated, shwopppping along with each step!  I was stunned and laughing as I limped unevenly along home,  and grateful for the wits to wear the boots close to home and not out on a backpack trip of some mileage.  Apparently for these boots, this brand, this breed, 20 years is not in the cards. Yesterday at 15 they said "It is enough!"

The Second Best is Today

There will be no pictures. The body I see is definitely a "before" physique.  Nothing wrong with that, but I want strength and shape. Some of my pants are tight enough to be uncomfortable.  Over the years my technique for staying slim (besides having skinny genes) is never to buy bigger clothing.  My recent birthday and the tight pants have been the inspiration for paying more attention to the condition of the body I want to have for the rest of my life.

So today begins a serious commitment to myself--even if it is the only Thing I get to do today, though I'm hoping there will be enough left in my tank for a few other simple tasks after my work out.

Here's the plan:  fitness workout three days a week;  yoga and/or aerobics at the our local community center on two days (walking the 3/4 mile each way); longer walk one day; one day of rest.

And now it's evening. I did all the workout.  I was able to clean the house--dust, really scrub the kitchen floor and vacuum--and my tank is empty.  The body's tired and a bit sore everywhere, that good kind of sore that says the effort will make a difference, and I'm smugly pleased with myself for following through. It would have been great if I'd been paying better attention last year and the one before, but starting today is also excellent.  It's similar to this proverb about trees:  The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago.  The second best is today.  I began today.