I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
...
And so the feeling grows
It's written on the wind
It's everywhere I go, oh yes, it is

-Troggs / Wet Wet Wet

I sat up and wondered what was better for me: sleep or movement. Mesmerized by the silence, my automatic snooze alarm at 2:40 nudged me. I sat longer, contemplating the meaning of it all, when I found my watch had ANOTHER 10-minute alarm. "Fine, fine. I'll go."

I pulled on a pair of spats then grabbed my combat shorts—Heads Will Roll, right?

I wish I could regale in a tale of how I shoved iron to-and-fro like some crazed 105-lb Crossfitter. One thing I can say: I slowly and steadily pushed the weights forward like a Man on a Mission.

I cut out the Arnold press—can you blame me? I had a session of popcorn scraping yesterday with another scheduled soon. More importantly, I just feasted on a 4.4 oz filet of salmon, a first for me to eat between benchpress sets! Who wants to dig deep with a belly full of fish?

I pulled over the ol' green LED headlamp. How that thing has carved out my daily footsteps! Then I slapped on the new sandals—gotta break 'em in.

The walk wasn't much. All totaled, it was a mere 2 ¾ miles, rather paltry compared to the last walk on February 25, 8.3 miles, another day when I outlasted my tech.

It was slow, purposely so. While I'm not 100% back, my thinking was more just to enjoy being alive. Enjoy music. Do some smiling.

I kept peeking at my Garmin's pace and regretting I had. Sustaining a practice of moving is a couple of orders of magnitude more important than what pace.

(Who cares about pace? I'm wearing sandals!)

I would spy puddles from last night's rainfall. When I wore shoes in the past, they were my bane. One step and you've got a waterlogged souvenir for the morning and likely a funky foot!

But today?

I actively sought them. Life is just different with sandals. No, I suppose splashing in puddles is not the proper, 45-going-on-46 way. Gotta invest that tuppence in Fidelity Fiduciary Bank.

No, I suppose I'm more Into the Wild than The Wolf of Wall Street.

(And I died in my Alaska as well.)

This body isn't back, yet. But, Garmin tells me my daily stress average this past week is dropping: 89, 80, 74, 67, 57, 50. And that new crazy itch on my quad from that old poison ivy tells me I'm doing fine, that "Hey, I, oh, I'm still alive."

As for me, I feel the earth in my toes.