It’s 7:06 and I’m DONE.
How wonderful that feels. I came
home dripping wet and panting, took a shower, and treated myself to a bagel – a
whole bagel – with salmon cream cheese on one side and peanut butter on the
other, and two huge cups of coffee. I
can handle anything, knowing that I don’t have to walk tonight when it’s, I don’t
know, 95? It’s funny, the tricks you
play in your mind to stay out of a rut.
I did the tried-and-true, Banks-for-1.3-and-the-hills-for-3.7. Usually I take the three hills in the order I
come to them: Leland, Terrace and Mary –
up and down each one of them – then turn around and walk the relatively flat
East Side all the way back home. Today I
walked straight to Mary, ascended and descended, then did the same with Terrace
and then Leland, and had what felt
like a shorter walk home on East Side. Hey,
whatever works.
All the way through my walk this morning, I had numbers running
through my head. When I join the gym, I’ll
walk Banks 1.3, and do 3.7 on the treadmill.
I usually have the speed set at 3.9 or 4.0 for the walking part, which
means I’ll be on there slightly less than an hour, but if I run a good part of
it, that could bring it down to maybe 50 minutes. I’ll do the outdoor walk three times a week,
the treadmill the other three. The possibilities
are endless.
I especially wanted the walk out of the way because it’s
going to be another meat orgy at Fogo de Chao tonight, Sam’s long-deferred straight-A
celebration with Lynn and Jeff. Couldn’t
bear to have that hanging over my head.
And I didn’t want today to be my day off, because that’s going to be
tomorrow, and I AM going to the gym over my lunch hour. I’ve been rehearsing my pitch for the last 24
hours.
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