It was the pedometer that started this whole thing. Jennie and I went to REI to get her a handy dandy pedometer like mine, and we left with my little pink Cruiser. Because of the Cruiser, I started this blog, Cruising at 65.
A lot has changed since then. Summer has turned to fall. Two grandchildren and a son-in-law have had birthdays. So have I, actually. The days have gotten shorter. People I love have suffered sad losses. I’ve signed up for Medicare. Pentecost has given way to Advent. RIP pink Cruiser and hello pending surgery.
There’s one thing that’s been constant, though, and that is my little pedometer friend. I carry it everywhere I go, and if I don’t have a pocket, I slip it into the right leg of my stockings. That is not a foolproof way to carry a pedometer. Not if you inadvertently flush it down the toilet at a fancy restaurant overlooking Plymouth Bay. Pedometer II works just like its late twin, so I continued tracking my steps with hardly a pause.
A pedometer is a great encourager. When you’re feeling slothful, its chirpy little voice says, “Let’s take a walk.” When you’re hanging out reading, it interrupts, “We haven’t done anything fun today.” Fun, to a pedometer, means exactly one thing: walking.
The other day it complained, “We only have 5,000 steps so far.” So off I went – to Asilomar with Walt, all along the great boardwalk into Pebble Beach. Later we walked to town. Turns out to have been my best day ever for steps – 16,572. That’s 6.1 miles on these short legs of mine. But the pedometer never rests. Just now it demanded to know, “How many steps today?” Shhhhh. Don’t tell it only 8,725 or it’ll be after me again.
Some people walk their dog. I just walk my pedometer!
A lot has changed since then. Summer has turned to fall. Two grandchildren and a son-in-law have had birthdays. So have I, actually. The days have gotten shorter. People I love have suffered sad losses. I’ve signed up for Medicare. Pentecost has given way to Advent. RIP pink Cruiser and hello pending surgery.
There’s one thing that’s been constant, though, and that is my little pedometer friend. I carry it everywhere I go, and if I don’t have a pocket, I slip it into the right leg of my stockings. That is not a foolproof way to carry a pedometer. Not if you inadvertently flush it down the toilet at a fancy restaurant overlooking Plymouth Bay. Pedometer II works just like its late twin, so I continued tracking my steps with hardly a pause.
A pedometer is a great encourager. When you’re feeling slothful, its chirpy little voice says, “Let’s take a walk.” When you’re hanging out reading, it interrupts, “We haven’t done anything fun today.” Fun, to a pedometer, means exactly one thing: walking.
The other day it complained, “We only have 5,000 steps so far.” So off I went – to Asilomar with Walt, all along the great boardwalk into Pebble Beach. Later we walked to town. Turns out to have been my best day ever for steps – 16,572. That’s 6.1 miles on these short legs of mine. But the pedometer never rests. Just now it demanded to know, “How many steps today?” Shhhhh. Don’t tell it only 8,725 or it’ll be after me again.
Some people walk their dog. I just walk my pedometer!
This is charming! And it reminds me: I need to dust off MY pedometer....
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