Walking

It has not been that many years since I would regularly go out walking for an hour after work. I figured I covered at least 3 miles on those walks. It was up in Humboldt, where the scenery was pretty inspiring. I didn’t even notice I was walking. I would even pass a llama farm.

Now I am ancient, so old that people ask me what it was like to go to law school with Abraham Lincoln. I usually ask them what it was like to see Henny Youngman tell that joke, but no one remembers Henny Youngman anymore.

The other day I decided to walk to the post office–a 2 mile round trip. I made it, though I had to stop twice along the way.

I’m getting old and wobbly. I stand from the killer couch and my legs tremble. I walk to get the mail and the slight incline of my driveway almost pulls me to the ground. I go grocery shopping and after ten minutes I’m waving the white flag.

There’s only one solution.

I need to walk more.

I need to strengthen my legs so that I can feel like a young pup of 58 again.

I’ve gotta get off the couch.

I thought this retirement gig would give me time to do all this. An hour walk in the morning, writing for two hours upon return, lunch, then another hour of walking in the afternoon.

Alas, I live in Barstow. There are sidewalks here, but the walking is less than inspirational. Unless you like barking dogs.

The alternative, though, is an early ride in a wheelchair, followed closely by an early ride in a hearse.

So I’ve gotta walk more. Sidewalks and barking dogs regardless.

To this end I bought my first pair of new shoes in five years. Walking shoes.

Surprisingly, this helped a great deal. The walking was instantly better. My feet complain a lot less.

So, my friends, root for me. I’m taking a long walk on a short sidewalk but it has to be done.

I can hear my couch sniggering behind me. I’ll show that overstuffed monster.

Hand me down my walking shoes. I’m going out.