With my foot still in pain, I’m trying something quite new, quite different this morning. It’s an odd kind of exercise, but one that’s apparently been around for a while, but just hasn’t been something that appealed to me when I was a young and able-bodied person. I always thought this was something I might try when I’m old. Am I old?
Anyway, I’m meeting the Duchess this morning for this thing called “walking.” Apparently it’s in many ways it’s similar to running, but without the harsh pouding. But the thing is, I have no idea how one dresses for this activity. It’s currently 33 degrees/feels like 22. (Some day I’ll look back on this post and do a double take and think, “Wait, I thought this post was from April!”) Running means a pair of running pants and a long-sleeved shirt because after fifteen minutes, I’ll be sweating. But I’m pretty sure one does not sweat the same way on this walk-thing.
At first I suspected I was overreacting by not running, but one late-night dance party with my kids (and, yes, “late night”=9 p.m., so maybe I am old) and I’m hobbling. My dance moves never graduated from the ’80s jump up and down. I took the kids on a walk down memory lane, playing with the songs from my childhood. It started with “Run Joey Run,” the first 45 I ever bought (Pie: “What’s a 45?”). We moved on to Pink Floyd (Pie: “Pink Floyd? She is going to be awesome! Wait, that’s Pink Floyd? I hate Pink Floyd.”) We hit a little Depeche Mode (Me: “I could have sworn I had this song. Oh, wait, it was on a mixed tape.” Pie: “What’s a mixed tape?”). Meanwhile, the boy excels at the Robot (thank you “Mr. Roboto) and he can groove Billy Squier (cue making Adam uncomfortable as I explain what “The Stroke” is actually about). An excellent night. A hobbled foot. Such is life.
So I’m off to try this new-fangled exercise. We’ll see how it goes!
