Lately the hubby and I have taken to walking up the Stanford foothills on Sundays. Okay, to be candid, we have done it 3 times in the last month or so, and each time seems to be a little easier on me. It's that hill that Stanford Avenue ends with, the one that goes up steeply, like the back of an elephant's behind. I know it doesn't look that bad, but it FEELS like it. My ass can attest to that - it always hurts afterwards.
So, the first time I go up, it's the early part of May, the height of my allergy season. O-M-G. I couldn't even talk about one-third of the way up that hill. I was quite a sight - my face was red from the struggle, tears were coursing down my sweat-stained cheeks from my allergies, and I was panting like a walrus (do walruses pant? I mean, they seem like they do). I dearly wanted to strangle my husband, who was coasting along cheerfully. What was the most humiliating was, these two grannies go zooming by me, talking about their hedges and not a single iota out of breath, and most unforgivably, not a day under seventy.
I had thought about turning back, but not after that. I kept going and going until my thighs were burning and rubbing together so hard I thought my underwear was going to catch fire. There is a great birthday card that uses that as a punchline, but I do wish I had made that up first. So, needless to say, that day, I fought the hill, and the hill won. But I've been up twice since, and each time it's gotten progressively easier - I wouldn't say I've run up that hill, but the day will come when I do! So that's where I've been since April - celebrating the hubby's birthday (April 26th), celebrating our 7-year wedding anniversary (May 10th), and celebrating my 37th birthday (May 15th), and working on my physical self and whipping it back into shape!!!