So instead of whining some more, I got out for a walk yesterday afternoon. It was nearly perfect for this time of year–close to 50, slight breeze, sunny in the morning with a build-up of clouds in the afternoon. I set a faster pace than normal, which admittedly still isn’t very fast, and did my usual route of I-don’t-know-how-far-but-probably-a-mile-and-change. Maybe it’s a mile and a half. I don’t know, except to know it’s just about far enough for me.
It felt good. Better than it has for some time. My back didn’t hurt or tighten up on me, for one, and that made the walk so much more pleasant than normal. My right knee, which has been troublesome, worked just fine. My hips were loose and didn’t hurt until the last eighth of a mile or so, then the right one started in. It wasn’t bad, though, and I kept going. Mostly because I had to, of course, because no one was going to come along and give me a ride back to my car. It was all on me and I womaned up and got the job done.
I was nicely warmed up and a little sweaty by the time I got back to the car. That’s a good thing. My shoes were full of sand and tiny pebbles, the bottoms of them were covered with sand and mud and probably horse poop (I generally avoid it but I’m pretty sure I stepped in some recently fresh stuff if the snootful of horsey fragrance I got at one point was an indicator), but dang, I was pretty happy.
Moving is good. Fresh air is good. The Cone of Silence, aka the park, is good. Life is pretty good, too. And I’m gonna keep telling myself that until I really, truly believe it.