This afternoon it was a hair over 30 degrees, no wind, direct sunlight, and most of the sidewalks in my neighborhood looked clear which set me up for a walk. The evil old bags at Weight Watchers always said that you should tell someone when you exercised. Some kind of bragging/positive reinforcement bullshit. So I’m telling you.
I strategically followed the exposed sidewalks, in some cases retracing my steps back down the block just to get the mileage. I kept the street crossing to a minimum since even the clearest crossing points were treacherous booby traps over slushy ice filled gutters.
I’d gladly walk in the cleared street if it wasn’t about 8 feet narrower than normal. Apparently there are no laws about parking off the street to let snow plows come through. It is rare enough to have my neighborhood’s streets plowed in the first place. So both edges of the street were lined with 3-4 feet of ice, slush and frozen in place cars. I assume they are frozen in place since they never seem to go anywhere.
Frozen cars and slushy death traps aside, it was just good to be outside and walking without hearing the nails on chalkboard squeak of snow under my feet. I was moving pretty confidently when I hit the first patch of sneaky ice.
I didn’t even see a difference in the sidewalk. From one step to the next, I was swiveling right to left and muttering salty expletives. I was able to bring it back together and keep moving without losing too much momentum or entertaining the neighbors.
I was not so lucky with the next patch.
It was just too thin to be visible, but just thick enough to send me reeling. I was a cartoon character on roller skates. Surrounded, I’m sure, by giant exclamation marks and motion lines. One leg went up in the air and I pinwheeled my arms in the classic slow motion fall stance. Jerking forward and back, I felt something in my back twinge and was sure that in the next jerk I was going to face plant.
And then I peed my pants.
My yoga compression pants to be exact. Not a full on, let it all go pee, but enough to think “Yea, I just peed my pants.” Somehow in the herky jerky dance of electrocution on ice, I saved my visible dignity, but not my bladder’s.
And that’s why I totally love exercising…NOT! I should do a list of all the reasons I hate it so.
I got my two miles in at a cost. An achy back and damp drawers. Olivia cuddled on my lap and said it didn’t matter if I smelled like a litterbox.