There Was a Point There Somewhere

I took a hard-target walk yesterday evening.  (Hard-target walk wherein I set a pace and keep it for the entire walk, regardless of incline.)  I did roughly 1.6 miles in about 30 minutes.  So, approximately 3.2 miles an hour on average. 

I'm a little stiff this morning.  I pushed it and I knew I was pushing it, so I'm not really surprised.  I got about .6 miles into the walk and almost stopped.  I stood there next to the power pole I figure is .6 out and looked up the hill toward the farm wondering if I shouldn't just turn for home.  And then I started walking again. 

At the .8 mile mark is an old farm house.  I stop in the driveway before turning back and heading for home.  No one lives there, so I can take all the time I need.  But I didn't need that much time.  In the past, I would've been huffing and puffing at the top of that hill.  Not anymore.  My legs were tired, but the ol' cardio was chugging along fine. 

Walking out is mostly uphill, so walking back is mostly easier.  The hardest part is the last bit where I have to walk a steep stretch to get to the house.  Yesterday, the steep stretch was broken by encountering a neighbor right in the middle.  It was the new guy from in the woods across the street and his bloodhound puppy.  (7 months old and so damn cute I wanted to snuggle her up.)  By the time we got done chatting, that last bit of the walk was easy-peasy.

Anyway, I had a point I was going for there somewhere, but as with last night, I got distracted by the puppy.  All floppy ears and loose skin and big soulful eyes.  And her name was Gertrude, which seemed to fit.  I mean, who could resist?

Ahem... the point...

Goals?  Determination?  Fighting through the pain to get where you want to go? 

I could hop into the Wayback Machine and remind myself that there was a time when I was told I would never walk right again.  I still have my cane in the corner of the bedroom.  But it's covered in dust now because I never need it and I don't remember it's there long enough to run a rag over it.  And that's where thoughts of my bad leg belong - in the corner, covered in dust.  Right now, the cane's best purpose is self-defense.  I could conceivably grab it and swing for the fences at any intruder.  (The handle is specially molded to be wide and spread any weight over a greater area of my hand.  Imagine getting whacked upside the head with that sucker.) 

Maybe that's the point... not hitting an intruder with a cane, but the idea that despite what we are told we cannot do, we need to move forward and do it anyway.  Screw the naysayers.  Even when the biggest naysayer is that little voice inside ourselves.