Walking with the Oldies

I stayed in a hotel a few weeks ago when we went on a little family vacation. One thing I always notice about hotel rooms is that their bathroom mirrors are set much lower than those in my own bathroom. I therefore get the advantage of stepping out of the shower and seeing not just my upper body, ravaged by time and three years of breast feeding (not consecutive – one year per kid), but also a full view of my behind. It’s not pretty.

I was actually appalled by the jiggliness, the droopiness and the general disturbing appearance of this particular body part. Sure, I have a full-length mirror at home, but I don’t use it until I’m dressed. Ever. But now, after my hotel stay, I’m forced to admit that I need to do something. Quickly.

After weighing my options, I decided I would walk to work twice a week and home from work once a week. This decision has been the source of constant ridicule in my house.

You’re going to walk?

Yes. Walk to work.

Walk?

Yes. What’s the problem?

What are you, eighty-five?

What does that even mean?

Anyone can walk. It’s only exercise if you’re old and it’s a major feat just to get out of bed.

That’s not true. Walking is excellent exercise.

Okay, Lori, whatever you say. You have your little walk. Let me know how it works out for you.

In my defense, it’s about 6.5 km from home to work (that’s about 4 miles for my American friends). I do the walk in 48 minutes, 27 seconds (approximately – I’m a bit of a geek with my watch). Oh, and this is on my route (click the image to get the full impact):

In Homer’s defense, the only other people I run into along the way are at least eight-five. Probably pushing ninety. But they have smokin’ hot asses. I swear.