By PVG viagra
One mile yesterday, one mile today.
What I like about my walk is that it is up-and-down, a little. I am walking in the Mill Hill neighborhood of Trenton, where the first and second Battles of Trenton were fought. I start at the top of the hill, walk down, take three laps around Assumpink Creek, and then head back up the hill. I think this is maybe a little better than walking on flat ground, but what do I know.
I went walking yesterday, and noticed that one of the buildings down the block has a false front. It’s a state building, a satellite office of the Department of the Treasury. The first two floors are there but the third floor is phony – it’s just a stone façade with some weird peaks on it, and a weathervane. I don’t know what this all means other than you don’t have to be a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing.
I hate exercise.
I did another mile today. I think that I was on Whine Factor Five yesterday; today was more like Whine Factor Two. It took me a minute longer (31.9 minutes) than yesterday, but it was windier yesterday, which means I don’t know what.
I woke up this morning with this statement rolling around in my head:
“If you choose an outcome, you must choose all the steps that lead up to that outcome.”
So I went for a walk this afternoon – one mile, which is three circuits around the park that straddles Assunpink Creek in beautiful downtown Trenton. It took me thirty-one minutes.
I emphatically do not want to start walking again, but you can’t have the outcome just by itself, for nothing. You have to choose the steps that lead to the outcome.
I walked three whole miles today, on the treadmill, after flying cross-country the day before, and a three-hour delay on top of that. On my day off. May not mean much to you, I don’t know. I went to see the National Treasure sequel at the AMC at the big mall in Arlington the other day, and they had a trailer for some documentary about a marathon and the people who ran in it, and the tagline was something about how the marathon experience changed your life — how you woke up one person and went to bed another. Don’t know about that, don’t want to know. But nobody running a marathon ever worked harder than I have doing this hundred miles. You have to do a marathon faster than what I walk, and you have to do it for a lot longer, but you don’t work any harder, and you sure-God don’t push yourself any more than what I do. I believe that, if I don’t believe anything else.
Ninety-seven miles down, three miles to go.
Today’s post is brought to you by Continental Airlines, without which I would not have had two extra hours to kill in D/FW Airport, and would not have walked two miles through Terminal E. Well done.
Ninety-four miles down, six miles to go.
Two points here.
First, if you are going to replicate this nonsense (why should you?), you need to get a car with heated leather seats. I completely forgot that my Chrysler had this feature, and I’m kicking myself, because heated leather seats are a Godsend for sore muscles if you have to drive in the car long distances. So nice.
Second, I completely screwed up and misremembered when my gym was open; it’s open until 3 on New Year’s Eve but closed on New Year’s Day. We leave tonight for Texas, and get back on Thursday the 27th. So that means:
2 miles on Friday the 28th
2 miles on Saturday the 29th
2 miles on Sunday the 30th
2 miles on Monday the 31st
That adds up to eight miles, and I’ve done ninety-two miles so far, which means that…
Well, it means nothing, because there could be a freak snowstorm that buries Central Jersey during this stretch, making it impossible for me to do the mileage. But it sets up nicely, or so you’d think.
Ninety-two miles down, eight miles to go. A Merry Christmas to all and may God bless us, every one.
If I had anything clever or cute to say, I’d say it. Writing about being exhausted and sore is more exhausting than actually walking. And I have to do it all again tomorrow, and — because I’ll never catch up any other way — over the Christmas holiday, too. Bah humbug.
Eighty-nine miles down, eleven miles to go.
A mile and a third today, and then I got disgusted and had to stop. Not depressed, not unhappy, nothing like that, just looked at myself and looked at the treadmill, and said, “That’s enough for today.” There’s only so much you can do, and a man’s got to know his limitations.
Getting off early tomorrow, don’t you know, and should be able to knock out a couple of miles. Then I have to get up early (i.e., before noon) on Saturday (God help me) and knock out a few more. Then flying out to Texas on Saturday evening, probably not walking then — but coming back Thursday afternoon, and I can walk on Friday and Saturday, probably on Sunday, too. Next Sunday is effectively the last day I can walk, as my gym is closed on New Year’s Eve.
Eighty-seven miles down, thirteen miles to go.
