The Morning Walk

This morning I resumed my morning walk, wearing sweatpants, short-sleeve polo, ankle weights and hand weights. It stormed last night as a front came in, north and south clashing again, so I almost turned around to change into a long-sleeved shirt. My hair was still wet from a shower, which made me a little chilly as the wind swirled, but onward I went.

Around July this summer I stopped walking when the temperature and humidity were just too high, causing me to sweat just stepping out the door. (I hate that.) Now that the temperatures are more tolerable, I’ll walk until the air drop below 50 degrees in the mornings. It was 54 this morning. How do I know? As soon as I got back home, I sat in the van and turned on the alternator and that’s what the digital thermometer read. (I love that about my car – the onboard compass and thermometer. So convenient. I’m so used to it, I automatically look up in every vehicle and plane in which I’m a passenger.)

I should have worn my earmuffs this morning, but I just didn’t realize it was that cold. By the time I got home, I was quite ready for a cup of coffee with hot chocolate in it, so were my poor ears. They are quite sensitive to cold air. And, if I walk in below 50 temperatures, my asthma kicks in because I cannot breath through my nose to warm up the air. I know, I know I’m only walking, but I’m walking fast and with weights and up and down steep(to me) inclines. I must breath through my mouth, not that I’m huffing or puffing mind you.

These morning walks do not help me contemplate. They are an aerobic necessity, the only exercise I get other than running/jumping around with the grandkids. When I’m not walking, I eat less to keep my weight down. It’s funny but when I’m walking I tend to count up to 100, then observe my surroundings, then count, and exercise my arms while I walk, then count, etc. Sometimes I will compose, but I really try not to do that. I don’t have pencil and paper with me to write anything down, and if what I’ve composed is really good, I lose it wanting to get home and write it down before I forget it. So, it’s just easier to keep my mind on how my knee is doing or my neck or my heels and count.

I wouldn’t mind walking after dinner, but I cannot get Danny to walk with me. He tells me he walks all day – to/from his truck, to/from/through Home Depot, to/from/around the jobsite – but I counter back that that is not the same thing.

Walking is good for you. I used to play racquetball (Absolutely loved it!), but it screwed up my right knee. I used to swim, but that’s just not convenient anymore. Besides, my knee has a fit when I try to frog kick. So, the morning walk it is for me.


About Cyranette

I have been writing since I was 11 and am now a grandmother of 9. Aside from my family, I love writing, reading, movies, gardening, genealogy, and travel. I met my soulmate online and we've been married 19 years. I am a survivor of rape, abuse, and cancer. I believe in love, kindness, and common sense. I was born/raised in Indiana and have lived in Massachusetts, Texas, and California. I have visited: most of the United States, British Columbia, Germany, Austria, and Costa Rica. My husband and I would like to visit England, Europe, and New Zealand and to take a train ride along the Canadian/American border. I have written essays, articles, short stories, a romance novel, a self-help book, and several children's books.
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