It had been a couple of days since I got any exercise, so earlier today I decided to go out for a walk in the neighborhood. At noon, I set out with my trusty bottle of flavored water and just enough determination to make it out the door (49% of me wanted to stay on the La-Z-Boy, 51% knew I'd feel like crap by the end of the day if I didn't go).
Although I live in sort of a dicey neighborhood, at a five minute walk from my doorstep the real estate values go up exponentially. Five minutes' walk away is literally the best part of town. There's a huge boulevard lined with historic homes, many Victorian era, set down in perfectly manicured yards.
It was the first time since I've been in this apartment (eight-plus months) that I've actually fulfilled the vision I had of walking that street. Score one for me!
Huzzah!
In this state of (relative) excitement, I walked and walked and walked ... 'til I got sick. I'd been fooled by the cloudy skies and slight breeze into thinking that the heat wasn't going to be an issue. At a high seventy-something, the temperature was very different from what we've seen a lot of in these parts this Summer (90's, humid, not my cup of noodles).
The fact that I was wearing a light "hoodie" on top of a short sleeved shirt didn't help. But I HAD to wear a hoodie because you know, a bright fuschia hoodie fools people into thinking you are less heavy.
Why, it's downright transformative!
Just like the right bathing suit with matching booties. It's magic!
The long and short of the story?
The long and short of the story?
Walking back home, up hills I hadn't even realized were there on the outbound, I realized that I didn't give a whit what anybody thought about my weight. That people weren't driving off the road in horror-stricken reactions at my girth. That the single most important thing at that point was to get home before I crapped my pants.
Which I did.
Next time I'm not going to OVER DO it. And I'm leaving the hoodie at home.
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