Getting Exercise in the Winter

Pushing a sewing machine pedal is not exercise. Walking two steps from sewing machine to ironing board is not exercise. Sometimes sitting on the floor sandwiching backing, batting and quilt is a bit of a stretching exercise, but not much. How to get exercise in the gloomy, chilly, too often windy winter months? I'm walking in the woods -- but not often enough. I'd continue my walks by the seashore except for the wind which makes chilly positively cold. Some people think exercise should hurt. They are mostly young and foolish or badly deceived by nasty coaches or sports writers.

I believe exercise should be so positive that doing it is a pleasure. Science has actually shown that for the non-athlete, i.e., the normal person who just hopes to stay healthy and reasonably physically fit, walking is an excellent exercise. It is the one I choose. No, I cannot imagine myself EVER being one of those geriatric [yeah, I know how old I am, I'm not in denial] shufflers walking up and down the mall. Malls are, to me, ugly places pushing cheap, ugly clothes to people who are so young and attractive they can wear them without looking entirely ridiculous. They are also places with dreadful music droning in my ears and the scent of pizza and various other fast food trying to entice me to ignore any fitness I get from walking.

No, if the seashore is too cold for me, even when well bundled in down and wool, I'll walk in the woods. Which I did a couple or three times this week. Right now the path is covered with leaves, which hide nasty roots waiting to trip one. The leaves will become slippery when wet or in later stages of decay. But I have my dearly loved trekking pole to support me if I stumble or slide a bit. Best of all I have the peace and quiet of the trees and small lake. I was nearly alone the whole time on each walk lately. The happy bounding of a big white dog, followed some distance behind by his human is a friendly interruption to the mental meanderings which are usual when my feet are in motion. If snow come - and of course it will come -- I'll be forced to walk on sidewalks -- my last resort and not one I welcome -- especially as this town is skimpy with its sidewalks, often being only on one side of a residential street. Maybe it makes some kind of municipal budgetary sense but to a New Yorker it is disconcerting. I'll adjust, the walking needs to happen and I enjoy it. I don't "multi-task" although I would enjoy listening to music. The brain needs down time too, and not just when asleep.

Dogs Get Lonely Too

Molly, who's a dog, and I have had some nice walks already. Rachel and family are away for a long weekend and I'm "dog sitting", in a sense since I'm home, only two blocks away, and drop in twice a day to take Molly out -- twice now to the beach and twice, no, three times, for walks in the neighborhood. She loves to walk, she loves to be off leash and run -- although she's getting old and stamina fades quicker than it used to. In dog years she's older than I am; I don't mind walking at her pace when she's enjoying the scents under bushes and on mailbox posts. She has a world in some ways richer than mine, at least olifactorily [did I just make up that word?]. Our walks are fairly long, it's beautiful weather and I enjoy them too.

I feel sad when I take her back to the house and say good-bye. "See you bright and early in the morning." I'm happy the cat chooses to stay in with Molly. The cat's getting older too but does spend the day outdoors usually. I'm sure Molly is lonely in that empty house. Once I would have shrugged and said, "but she's a dog." Can't argue there, but one can argue with the premise that loneliness is okay to impose on an animal that probably 80% of the time has a human on the premises. Well, but ... I have much to do at my home and animals are forbidden. If they weren't I'd bring her here. I may be getting softer hearted these days. Not a bad thing really.

Photo above taken following days when Molly and I walked in the woods, early in the morning when the shadows were too dark for a good portrait of Molly. Being a shepherd mix, during this walk where I was often behind her on the trail and out of sight, she regularly stopped to check that I was coming along as I should be before trotting on ahead to reconnoiter the path. Who's taking care of who?

Refreshd and relaxed

I always appreciate a respite from the usual. I had three days of lovely almost aloneness. Noah, my 17 year old grandson was home -- sort of, the way 17 year olds pop in to sleep and shower and offer a few polite words and go about their lives. But Molly, looking unusually pensive, was my companion on many walks. I watched as her superior nose lead her back and forth, exploring wonders I couldn't even guess. But Molly ignored the vistas along our walk on Long Beach, which, I guess is called an estuary, a long spit of sand, dune, thick patches of beach roses, knee deep dune grass, with an inlet on one side and the ocean on the other. Across the channel were wonderful houses, some very grand, some reasonably modest, all with enviable balconies looking out at the beach and beyond to the ocean. The name is appropriate for it is a long beach, about a mile long and separated from the busy Craigville beach, but it is public, just little known, a treasure, most of all at 7:30 in the morning with only four or six other people around. May I be forgiven if I mention a "cute kid" story. Eons ago our family flew from upstate to LaGuardia, my daughters were small and had never been in an airplane before. As we circled before landing, making a long sweep eastward over Long Island, Leslie, watching the scene below piped up, "What a long island." Seems a long time ago.
It is getting late so no more tonight, except this picture of the last of the beach roses. The low bushes are adorned as if Christmas were coming tomorrow with big fat red rose hips.