Several times this summer, Ruth and I -- yes, I call my mother by her first name, and no, it does not offend her -- agreed that while we wanted a bit of exercise, we weren't inclined to go to the gym. Several times this summer, we strapped on our tennies, hiked up our fitness shorts, took a shot or two of H2O, and hit the streets. Our neighborhood isn't very big, so hitting every cul-de-sac totals about 2.25 miles. Admittedly, we're not all-out sprinters, but we keep up a respectable clip.
Tonight, we set out at precisely 8:21 with the goal of completing every cul-de-sac by 9:00. We had 39 minutes to walk more than 2 miles, which seemed ample to me. We returned to the driveway 40 minutes later, having completed 2.12 miles. We didn't walk our own cul-de-sac, and we didn't stick as tightly to the perimeter as we normally do. The bugs were annoyingly constant, and the humidity made my mane look like first-year Hermione Grainger. None of that mattered, though.
I don't go on these walks with Mom to burn 500 calories or to "glisten" or to maintain my buns of steel (yeah, right). I go because of the camaraderie. My mom is an excellent conversationalist, and she's an even better listening ear. Sometimes I just need to vent, or I need an unbiased third party's sage wisdom. Sometimes we fill our walks with a steady stream of comments about the new gazebo in so-and-so's backyard or the azaleas in the what's-their-names' flower beds. Sometimes we talk about whatever comes to mind, which inevitably segues into random topics and things we've already discussed ten times. That doesn't matter, either. For forty minutes, it's just Mom and me, and we're unstoppable. I relish these walks, and it ain't for the exercise. Though that is a bonus.
Well, I'm off to shower, log my mileage in my Excel spreadsheet, and catch up on season two of Pretty Little Liars that just came available on Netflix! Ta ta! :)