“Generations have trod, have trod, have trod…”

(Title source here.)

So I seem to have embarked on another bunch of walking after a layoff that lasted most of the school year. Because of the slack period, I’m not quite at square one, but I’m barely onto square two. What that means is that when I’m at the Y, I’m going kind of slowly and for shorter periods than I was when I was doing this on a regular basis before. But I remain hopeful that by summer’s end, I’ll be where I was at the end of last summer.

And that brings us to this morning. Currently when I start a treadmill session, my targets are A) 30 minutes, B) 3K, C) 2 miles. These are all within a relatively narrow range at my current pace (ca. 3.5 mph), and whichever one I go for depends on how crowded the treadmills are, how tired I am, and my mood — which means sometimes I may only plan to go for half an hour, but wind up stealing a few more minutes and getting my two miles in. (Longer-range targets will be in the 5K and up range for distance, and the 1 hour-plus range for time, but we’ll see if I get there.)

Today, I was doing my Percheron’s plod and was almost a mile in when I decided to check my heart rate, which one does by grasping contact plates on the handlebars for a few seconds. All well and good, except that as I was holding the bars, I somehow bumped the killswitch — no matter how much walking I do, I’m still a klutz, it seems. I didn’t know precisely how far I had gone — 0.8 miles? 0.9? — or how long, but I knew I was over halfway to 30 minutes, and I considered punting and calling it fate.

But then I realized that I did have a measure of sorts available to me. The televisions in the workout room were tuned to one of the morning news shows, and I remembered I had started about a minute into the 8 a.m. segment. So I knew that if I kept going to an equivalent point in the next segment, I’d have my half-hour, and that if I went a few minutes past that, I’d get two miles in.

All this took less than 10 seconds, and I got the machine going and finished up, hitting my estimated two-mile mark as I listened to the Call’s “The Walls Came Down.” I even went through another short song after that, just to make sure. Sometimes, maybe you can ignore fate. And here’s the song that occupied my bonus distance, courtesy of P.T. Walkley.

About profmondo

Dad, husband, mostly free individual, medievalist, writer, and drummer. "Gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."
This entry was posted in Alternating Feet, Music, Why I Do What I Do. Bookmark the permalink.

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