I told my son that I was going to try to take this week relatively off. He’s skeptical, since I’m a workaholic.
I told him I wanted to binge more, to read more, and to walk more.
“Well, there’s only so much walking you can do,” he said, acknowledging both my back and the epic heat we’re in for this week.
Yesterday, I got up early, started a podcast, and headed out. My back has been tolerating about 35 minutes of walking lately, but I decided to add on another 10.
This morning, I woke up with two new blisters on the ball of my left foot.
I still went for my walk, but it was slower, and I’m back down to 35 minutes.
The universe is clear: it wants me to die early, fat, and hypertensive.
Or it wants you to get new shoes. I think shoes. Something with padding and sparkles.