Day 4 of walking in the mornings...

I walked a bit further this morning, as intended.  But I also tired a bit during the walk for the first time, and chose to sit down on a bench outside a closed sushi place for a couple of minutes to rest.  My left calf was cramping.  When I was working out a lot, I once suffered from what the doctor called "compartment syndrome", which was a fancy term for the fact the 'sheath' in my lower leg is too narrow for the muscle contained within it.  My calves are nowhere near that big or well-developed anymore (it used to make me laugh when these huge bodybuilders with puny legs would stop me in the gym and ask me how I got my calves so big) but it still cramped up today.

I also was breathing a bit harder this morning.  I'm pretty sure it was from added exertion and not any lung problem.  I'm sitting here in the warm glow of post-exercise relaxation and while I'm sweating like a pig, it's a good feeling.

I sent my mind elsewhere on this morning's walk, so I can't report if the adult entertainment store changed any of the lingerie or shoes in its display, or what the lone bakery that's open smelled like.  I was elsewhere.  I was once again riding my mountain bike on a 100 mile circuit of L.A. streets that included one of the most fun, and probably most stupid things I've ever done.  I was heading home on Mulholland Drive when I got to Sepulveda and realized it was the most direct route home.  So I rode down that gigantic hill, actually pedaling to try to go faster.  My bike's speedometer reached at least 52 mph, before I decided I was going too fast to keep looking at it.  That I survived without an accident or incident is more a testament to good fortune than to any skill I had at riding.

I was also running in a half-marathon in my mind, as I walked this morning.  I remember this particular race quite well.  Just past the ten mile mark, there's a water station and Gatorade station, just like every other mile marker.  But just beyond those, a local bar has another refreshment station, where you can get a beer, or a jello shot.  I laughed at those who stopped to imbibe.  Not far from there, the course makes a sharp turn and suddenly you're running up a 7% grade for about 1.5 miles.  It's a major gut-check, and perhaps some liquid courage might have been helpful.  But I wasn't going to give up, so I finished.

And, like I finished that race (and every other I ever entered), I'm not going to drop out of this walking thing.  I saw a documentary a couple of weeks ago, and got a chance to interview the director.  He was engaged in a social experiment where he was living on the street for 31 days, getting everything in life, food, shelter, and so on, from Craigslist.  I pointed out that he could have walked away anytime it got tough and he said I was right, but that he had committed to seeing it through and nothing was going to stop him.  I am finding inspiration in his commitment.