Walking

Four miles a day. So far I'm not seeing a big change in my size, although I'm hoping for a noticeable difference when I go back to the clinic for a re-check at the end of the month (especially since I'm finally off the medication with the bloating side effect). I'm not stiff after walking any more, and sometimes the walks are really enjoyable. And Nora not only has experienced a huge shift in personality for the better during the course of our walks, but Rick says she is starting to assume a vaguely "dog-like shape." The trainer agrees. But boy oh boy, sometimes I'd really rather not get up!

The guy on Calling All Pets last week was talking about the benefits of having an animal as an exercise partner. You can't call in sick to a dog, or tell a dog you have too much going on in the office. The dog needs to walk, and expects to see you on the other end of that leash rain or shine. For the next ten years or so.

I keep fantasizing about a scooter, and just letting the dog run beside me like Shelly Long and Steve Gutenberg in Don't Tell Her Its Me. And I keep picturing myself trudging through a blizzard in a few months, wearing Dad's down mittens while the dog is geared up in little fleece booties.

Nora is great - we've bonded well, and I really enjoy having her around. Rick has even warmed up to her. But gawd, the walks . . . stretching on in front of me ad infinitum . . .