In my continuing effort to clock 10,000 steps in a single day, I’ve decided to increase the distance I walk every morning rather than adding an afternoon stroll through my favorite stores and possibly, (oh, who am I kidding?), definitely, increasing my credit card debt.
Now I walk from our condo to the beach, back again, and then along Highway 41, also known as Tamiani Trail North or South, depending upon whether you’re going North or South. It has sidewalks and I’m not the only one speed walking along them which suggests there should be safety in numbers but, with the trucks whizzing past so fast the muggy breeze almost blows my sweat dry, I’m not so sure. It might be more like stupidity in numbers.
In any case, I’ve hit the highway in pursuit of the elusive 10,000.
Unlike my walk to the beach, I don’t listen to music while I speed up and down 41. Having Cyndi Lauper, Kelly Clarkson, Adam Levine, Bruno Mars, or any of their ilk blaring into my brain would quickly progress to me dancing in a crosswalk or the entrance to a parking lot where I, lost in my smooth moves in the Jazzercise class happening in my head, might get pummeled by a car, van, bus, bicyclist (those people are insane!), and mess up my hair. Or my hip. Not happening.
Instead, I sightsee sans music and then report my findings to my husband, Robert.
“Hey! Hi!,” I say, stumbling through the front door, panting, sweat flying off my face. “You were right. You really can walk to the Hampton Inn from here!”
“Yep. Told ya,” he replies, handing me a glass of ice water which I gulp down, refill, and continue talking like I’m stuck on fast forward.
“You know that clothing store in the strip mall by Panera?” I ask between swallows. “Have you seen it? You’ve seen it, right?”
He looks at me, stirring his morning shake and probably wishing my walk wore me out a least a little. “Don’t know.”
“It’s called Thoughtful Threads Clothing Company,” I say. “What could they possibly have in there? Hippie clothes, stuff made from hemp, Puka shell necklaces? Who wears that stuff?”
He shrugs I don’t know.
“Can you imagine what the rent must be?” I ask. “Must be a lot of hippies around here to keep that place open!”
“Oh, and there’s all these tiny, dead, lizard/gecko things splattered on the sidewalk! People just crush ’em. I didn’t hurt the one on my windshield. I plucked him off. Set him free. I don’t get it.”
“Maybe they don’t want to save fifteen percent on their car insurance,” he laughs.
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