Well, let's define 'lunch' as something that takes place at 10 p.m. Then I call this 1/2 hour walk a lunch-time walk.
Done! Actually walked a brisk 2-1/2 miles today. In the spring sunshine, with clear blue skies and flowers blooming and bees buzzing and several mini-packs of lean crazed runners trying to run me down. All the joys of springtime, tra la.
Quote du jour: Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.Okay, so I should stop with the swearing already. I go through my life like a man late for the bus; running to catch up, I'll settle for getting to the destination somehow. In other words, walked 1-1/2 miles with Manuel.
Done! One thing about setting my goals low, it's much less stress worrying about whether I'll make them. Plus, the thought came to me about about 1/2 mile, what I'm doing here is mostly training the mind, not the muscles. Extend my mental stamina and the rest is easy peasy. (More or less. Mostly more.)
Done! It got later and later, and I started to wonder, but I made it with over an hour to spare.
Done! Well, if you stretch your definition of 'lunchtime' to 10 in the evening, anyway. Thank God for Manuel, or I'd never have done 20 minutes of walking. (And he had no problem with being put away and ignored for so long, either.)
Done!
Done! Not a pretty job, but I did it.
Done! A messy house is a sure sign of a woman who's determined to exercise. That's my story, anyway.
Here's the scene. It's 9:30 on a Saturday night, I've been working overtime all day, and I've decided 'the heck with it, I'm not going to ride the whole way home. I'll take the Max.' So I ride up to the Max station. Granted, not perhaps the best Max station. It does tend to be the station that you hear about on the news, with the words "the incident occurred at" used in the report. But the road home was starting to feel quite dark and deserted, and the train would be along in a couple minutes.
Yes, okay, the station was also rather dark, and it did have a bunch of big men lurking deep in the inky shadows. And as I got up to the ticket dispenser, a man on the other side of the tracks, some ways off in the dark, started yelling. I caught the word 'bicycle.' I figured even if he were drunk or on drugs, still I was surrounded by all these big guys who looked like they could've been part of a gang. I should be okay. Probably. I mean hell, this is Portland, not San Francisco. It's the Canada of the west coast. The general level of 'nice' is fairly high.
Then after I bought the ticket, I turned around to find myself facing an angry old man. "You were riding your bike at the station! And you heard me identify myself as a duly appointed Tri-Met supervisor! You were violating the law! Do you realize that the penalty for this offense is $170? Do you want me to write you a ticket?"
This went on for a few minutes. He was really pissed off at me. (Good thing I didn't do something trivial, like shaking a baby or something.)
For the record: Yes, I was doing something against the rules. So he had every right to write me a ticket. I don't think the yelling was necessary, certainly not at that volume for that length of time. Perhaps it made him feel better. I have a sneaking suspicion he liked being able to exercise what little power he had over the universe, for he didn't in fact write up a ticket; he got it out of his system by yelling.
[I think infractions this minor should be covered under the heading of Common Sense. If you're sitting on a bike, go at 2 mph and avoid pedestrians. If it's crowded, become one of the pedestrians. Don't make people feel unsafe.]
The funny part was what happened after he walked away. I found myself surrounded by a whole lot of big, tall, tough-looking guys. Who were all working hard to keep a straight face. One of them quite solemnly shook his finger at me. Then he grinned. Another mean-looking guy muttered, "I wouldn't have let him speak to me like that." A third guy said, "Hey, ignore him. That man spends most of his days getting disrespected by 15-year-olds. You handled him really well." A fourth guy just laughed.
Well, maybe the duly appointed long-arm of the bureaucracy was mad at me, but at least I got to meet a bunch of tough-yet-sympathetic guys.
And another plus, the encounter should encourage me to avoid this Max station in the future. Which should make it easier to pedal all the way home next time.
Exercise du jour: Cycling 3 miles in the morning, and definitely a whole lot more miles on the way home.
FAIL. In fact, I'm betting that the whole week is going to be a fail. By the end of the day, I was rather glad that I hadn't ridden my bike in. I left around 9 pm and would have faced another dark deserted ride home -- or else faced dealing the the joys of Tri-Met.
I've prepared for the week. On my way home, I bought 8 Lean Cuisine fast food meals. That way I'll get two meals a day, somewhat kinda healthy food. That's the best I can do.
Usually, I set up a week's worth of exercise and try to make the goal each day. This week, I'm not going to hold myself to doing this. I'll do what I can.
I wish life didn't get in the way of my goals. Some weeks all you can do is hang on and hope to make it through intact.
One route to success is re-defining goals. I'm called this a success.
Done!