Dearest Rachel –
The last couple of mornings have seen me awake with a little more time on my hands; enough time not only to go work out and get back before I’d be expected to be anywhere as part of what constitutes a “routine” for the day (let’s face it; the “routine” for a Sunday isn’t anything like that of a typical weekday), but enough time that, if I chose to do so, I could walk to the gym and back. This being December, however, that would ordinarily seem like a ridiculous idea. The question, after all, isn’t one of time, but of the cold and the discomfort of walking that third of a mile wearing nothing more than shorts and a T-shirt (because anything more would be far too much when working up a sweat in the hour or so of crawling on the treadmill).
But when I was switching on my computer this morning, in order to run another series of pictures while I was working out (it doesn’t need me around to tell it what to do, after all), I noticed that it was displaying a temperature reading in the mid-forties – and this before six in the morning!
Sure, I’ve walked through warmer mornings than this; much warmer, in fact. But I’ve also endured colder, as well, and at this time of year, the mid-forties are practically balmy. And while I keep ratcheting up my speed when it comes to the treadmill work, the extra two-thirds of a mile can’t hurt, and I won’t have that many times in which I can continue to do this in the foreseeable future. Yes, there are my weekly walks with Lars (and because of the weather, that’s happening today, too), but I’m dressed appropriately for those. When I’m heading to the fitness center, I’m wearing clothing that’s appropriate for the destination, but not for the journey, so it’s a completely different situation.
On top of the unseasonable warmth of the morning, the air hangs still outside the door. The concrete is wet, as if it rained overnight, but I don’t recall hearing it beating against the roof of the bedroom as I often do; maybe it fell as snow in the colder dark, and melted as it touched down onto the warming ground. But it’s ten degrees above freezing as it is, so when would it have been in such a soft, crystalline form? No idea, and since it’s not coming down now (for which I’m grateful, but also slightly concerned that it might return by the time I choose to return from my workout), I decide not to give it much thought.
As our street is a four lane thoroughfare, I have the advantage of having the way well-lit for the time of day; however, I tend to cut through an office park near the end of the block that leads to the gym. I could swear there were lights in the parking lot when I would make this trek in the pre-dawn summer, but now, it’s so dark, I can barely see my next step in front of me (although I’ve learned where not to step when I move from sidewalk to asphalt; there’s one spot where the lot is caved in from so many cars occupying the spot that there’s almost a perpetual puddle, which is guaranteed to be there today. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve soaked one shoe or another from forgetting about that step before figuring out where and when to avoid it). Apart from the multistory office buildings themselves, it’s something of a broad black expanse to traverse before getting to the back side of the strip mall that contains the place.
I make it there with time to spare before hitting the treadmill by six-thirty; while I don’t record my efforts on this or that weight machine, I do try to use one or another of them on a regular basis, particularly the ones that exercise my abs and chest muscles, as they need to most work. I’m pretty sure the work doesn’t do much in terms of calories, but if it teaches my body to relocate the fat in order to build muscle, all the better.
By the time I’m done, thankfully, the sun is up, and that empty parking lot is so much easier to cross – unless you count the fact that the wind has picked up, and when it blows across my wet gym togs, it’s decidedly uncomfortable in its own way. But this is what I committed to when I decided to walk there in the first place. At least once I’m past the office park, the wind either dies down, or is blocked by the buildings I’m now passing by.
Such is what at least the past few mornings have been like, honey. It’s not going to last; by Wednesday or Thursday, it’s not only going to be below freezing, but it will be as far below it as we are above it now. Winter is here, honey, and that’s just how the calendar flows. But as long as we have the reprieve, I might as well take advantage of the opportunity. As with the luck I’m always asking you to wish me, I certainly have need of it.
In any event, do keep an eye on me for the rest of the day, and, well… ah, you know the rest of the sign-off by now. I’ll be in touch with you again soon enough.
Letters to Rachel 