Stronger than....

This was the scene of Thursday's ecstacy, and Friday's agony.  My mouth still waters looking at it. Everything has returned to normal, thank you for the concerned inquiries.

As Banks and I headed out at 7:50 this morning, I had a plan to walk him for an hour and five minutes, return him home, and then do another hour and five minutes myself, figuring that would even things up after Thursday's truncated walk.  But the day was so beautiful, and he was having so  much fun, I decided to just do the whole five and then, around dinnertime, take a 35 minute walk (the average time for a Fresh Air podcast) around dinnertime, either with or without him.  We went through the woods and then back to St. Ed's -- the picture below is of the short but steep hill we've incorporated into our St. Ed's route.  It's really more of an incline than it looks, and leaves the back of my thighs burning. 

Did I mention that most of my family is meeting in New Orleans for Thanksgiving?  On the drive home last night, I told Lynn I am seriously stressing about those five days.  New Orleans is all about food.  Two days ago, Keene sent out an innocent email asking for some requests/suggestions, and the responses are 21 and counting. Jason informed us that there is a place called Willie Mae's, a kind of hole-in-the-wall that won the James Beard award for the best fried chicken in the country. World, maybe!  Kristin referenced something called buttermilk drops, apparently a NOLA staple.  Shubh, who lived in New Orleans for a year once, informed us that we have to visit this place called Drago's, which features charbroiled oysters.  Everyone is buzzing about farmer's markets and turkey sandwiches and oyster stew and Larry's famous pancakes, and I'm thinking, how am I going to resist all this?  And don't tell me a five mile daily walk will take care of it because it won't.  Maybe for the rest of the family, but not for me -- my body is way, way too used to this level of activity.

But a funny thing happened during last night's walk.  About halfway into it, those old demons of "I can't" and "what if" and "how am I gonna" began fading away.  They were muted, if not completely drowned out, by competing mantras, mantras that I didn't have to summon up, but that surfaced buoyantly all on their own.  I can do this.  I'm disciplined.  I'm in control. I'll figure out something. 

I think I'll stop by Gold's Gym before Wednesday and pick up one of their "stronger than" T-shirts as inspiration.  "Strong than an Ice Cream Sundae" will probably be best suited to this particular week.