Location, location, location. Just being here I’ve magically become athletic. It’s wild. Every day I do at least one, usually two, often more, of the following: swim/bike/walk/run. (Run! I know! And I’m not even being chased!) Nowadays, just walking around, I am pleasantly aware of my muscles which are happy being used. And I am just exhausted by nightfall. It doesn’t even feel like exercise, though. It feels like fun. I suddenly get, suddenly remember from my own childhood, why Little Girl runs and runs: for the joy of it.
In the morning, for example, we may bike to a park twenty minutes away, and on the way back detour to a nearby equestrian stable with a free petting zoo (free petting zoo! I know!). Maybe in the afternoon we’ll swim (Little Girl, if she has her vest on, is like a little fish, and darts around). Every evening we take the dogs for a walk/run around the lagoons and then back on the beach. When Husband’s not working, we’ll hike or bike through a nearby nature preserve. My in-laws, who, despite US Airways’s best efforts, did in fact arrive*, are up for reduced-speed versions of most of these activities. Something about this place just invites activity. Glorious really.
* I ran the numbers, and they could have driven here faster than it took them to fly: their trip averaged 71 miles per hour.
Proof of running:
