You know when in a movie, people are talking, then it cuts to a scene where Person A is strangling or karate-kicking Person B, and then it cuts back to A & B talking pleasantly, because the violent scene we just saw was all in A's head?
Today, around mile 16 of what would turn out to be an 18-mile walk (instead of 17; @#*@ lying sack of $a%&* google-maps *P$240ng), I didn't even have the energy to imagine that I had the energy to knock that smug jerk off of his skateboard and ride away on it myself, basking in the minimal leg muscle use it took to propel myself. Or - ooh - better yet, find some way to harness the man and make him pull me home.
This isn't what I intended to write.
I intended to write a piece called "breaks," which would discuss how I tend to be a plow-through-it type of girl. In it, I would site the example of when I lived in Madison and made the 4-hour Madison <--> Twin Cities drive regularly, and for the longest time I refused to stop along the way (causing me to dehydrate in an effort to avoid needing to pee, resulting in massive headaches by the time I got to my destination). I would talk about the day I decided to take advantage the rest-stop about halfway there, and how much I enjoyed stretching my legs, and how much better it made the last 2 hours.
Then I would relate that to how I decided for the first time to take breaks on my long walks. Today I had a 30-min lunch break, and even occasionally stopped and sat on a park bench by the lakes. Blah blah blah.
But my legs are twitching, and my brain's on Do-Not-Disturb, and my fingers are doing the dancing. So instead of writing those pleasantries, I write this: OWWWWWWWWWWWW.
It hurts.
Around Lake 1, I watched the people frolicking in the water with only minor jealousy. It was hot out. I'll bet that felt nice. But I had a walk to finish. Around Lake 2, I luxuriated in the shade of the trees. I discovered that the fountain didn't spout metallic-water-of-nastiness. I sat for a moment in the enclosed rest area, sharing the space with some bridesmaids who for some reason were afraid of the two birds flying above us. (They had very pretty green dresses, though). Around Lake 3, my legs started to protest in earnest. They'd had enough of this crap, and they demanded that I stop. I did, for a short break or two, which renewed them briefly.
But eventually, that wasn't enough. It started with the skateboard, whose owner was so boorish as not to heed my silent plea for his wheels. Then there was the nice commemoration boulder with a smooth, flat, inviting side. After that, I stared longingly at every bench I passed. And when I was finally back on the well-trafficked main road to my place, at every car. Sweet, sweet cars. With their selfish, inconsiderate, no-good drivers who zipped on by me instead of stopping and offering a random stranger who was probably making a slightly snarly face at them a ride.
Jerk-faces.
Part of me thinks I should start doing the during-the-week shorter walks too. The rest of me thinks that part of me should be summarily shot and dumped in the woods.
("You want to take the thing that's making you hurt and do it MORE? Are you out of your MIND?!"
"Well what if doing it more frequently makes the longer ones easier? What if-"
SMACK.)
Anyway, I have a super-sexy tan-line now. Around my ankles.
Try to contain your jealousy.
