After doctoring and PT-ing my way through most of the summer on into early fall, I was still left with almost constant chronic nerve pain (since February) in my lower back, searing down each leg out through my toenails.

     Then I had another surgery on my right knee 7/15 and the recovery’s been slooww.

     It makes me laugh that people always ask how the surgery was.    “Was it painful?    Tell me, what?”

     My standard reply: The surgery’s nothing, really. You know the drill: no eating after midnight, show up at 5:30 AM, change into a surgical gown, lock your stuff in a locker and do whatever it is they tell you to do next as numbers of others scurry around doing their pre-op work to make sure things go as smoothly as possible for you.

     Before you know it, you have no idea what hit you and it’s over.

     The recovery from that surgery, however, is the bitch.

     Couple this with the fact that I’ve been having great difficulty walking my usual 5-8 miles a day. Struggling since early February, the least I would traditionally walk at one time would be my morning 5-miler. Then whatever other walking I did throughout the day accumulated into my extra miles.

     This is currently not the case.

     Those who know me well know that my tights are in a Titanic twist because of my present physical limitations. I’m totally beside myself that my ability to take those daily cardio fitness walks that I’ve so diligently developed over the last 5-6 years, and, yes, come to absolutely love, are being taken away – maybe for good.

     To me this is unconscionable after losing 130 pounds in 2-1/2 years on my own by cutting white starch and sugar carbs from my diet and by taking up daily walking; until recently, I averaged 45-50 miles per week. This being my 6th year, I’ve logged over 13,000 miles, or better than halfway around the earth at the equator.

     How can I stop now?

     I can’t.

     So I plug on in spite of of my physical challenges and limitations. Something, all my doctors tell me, most of the rest of you do not.

     Their statements baffle me so I always ask: What do your other patients do instead?

     And each and every doctor’s reply is the same: “They do nothing.  They just whine and complain and get fatter, weaker and even worse.  They give up.  But not you.  I wish I had more patients like you.  It would make my job more interesting and certainly a lot easier.”

     Starting September 1st, I decided to try a little experiment of my own.  Nothing highly scientific, mind you.  Just my usual up close and personal research. I figure if I could teach myself to walk daily in 35 consecutive days – no matter what – back in January of 2003, I could certainly teach myself to ride that dang two-stage (arms and
legs move together) Schwinn Air-dyne stationary bike at the health club 1 hour a day every single day that I’m able to drag myself there.

     As of November 24th, the day we left for Florida, I rode that same bike each day – missing only a very few for business, meetings, travel and such.

     Seriously.

     I’m down 5 pounds – half of the “Lyrica 10” I gained over the summer. (It wasn’t the miracle drug for me like it is for some. I’m sad about this fact because I had high hopes for my chronic nerve pain relief.  More on this later.)

     Compare your physical condition to mine and if yours is worse, I’ll cut you some slack. If it’s not – you have no excuse, believe me.

     The moral of the story here is that even through all this pain, I finally found a way to squeeze in another form of daily cardio that does not exacerbate my chronic lower back and leg nerve pain: I ride the two-stage stationary bike at the club now to take up the slack and lack of my normal 5-8 miles of daily fitness walking.

     I tried swimming and water walking this summer, and neither were the level of intensity in daily cardio that I need. I want more bang for my effort’s buck – but also something more gentle on my joints and spine – because right now, sadly, walking clearly intensifies my chronic nerve pain.

     Serious, diligent daily cardio does pay and I’m living proof. If I can find a way to squeeze my cardio in every single day dealing with what I deal with physically, you can, too.  There is no excuse.  Find time.

How much time do you waste in a day?

Make your Mantra for the Holidays, into 2009 and beyond:

LESS CARBS – MORE CARDIO.

Get out and do it – for the health of it.

Laura Dion-Jones Casey

Brendan Francis
(1923-1964)
Irish author noted for his powerful political views
and earthly satire.

I currently have the pleasure of working motivationally with a lovely gal in her early forty’s who needs to lose about twenty-five to thirty post-baby pounds – and the kid is now two.

She’s on my mind a lot of the time as I often wonder how she’s doing with her new daily walking and diet routine. I like when she frequently checks in with me via e-mail whether she’s having a motivational problem or just to tell me how great she’s currently doing. My feedback helps her stick to her plan and believe it or not, it’s always a big inspiration for me, too.

I’m very proud to know that I help motivate her the way I do. That’s what I’m here for.

Whenever I get the chance, I always congratulate her on her progress with the South Beach diet plan. She’s been following it religiously for nine days and counting, which is nothing to sniff at. Her six-pound weight loss during that time shows that the low carb lifestyle in combination with daily walking does work – especially after the other diet methods she’s tried in the recent past have not. From my experience, most people who struggle with their weight need to eat lower carb to lose and just waste time fooling around with a lot of other diets that do not work as well for them.

No matter what, you HAVE to pick a diet you can live with in the long run – something you can follow Monday through Friday – especially after your weight is off.

That’s a big reason why I always suggest people choose the diet that has worked the best for them in their lifetime – and we all have one – and then go on it – and then stay on it – saving cheating for weekends only. Period

You can never really ever go back to your old way of eating – ever. If you do, the pounds will just pile back on by the handful. Duh.

This is truly one of the secrets to true and ever lasting weight loss and it’s right under everyone’s nose! Trust me on this. I’m living proof. I’m into my fourth year of maintenance following my original modified Atkins, low white starch and sugar carb eating plan – and look at me now.

The fact that people are beginning to notice my friend’s weight loss certainly IS a good boost for her, too. That’s one of the things that helped spur me on – especially in the very beginning of my own weight loss program this time. Success breeds success. Compliments breed success.

Otis Wilson, the former Bear’s Super Bowl champ, was one of the very first people at East Bank Club to even notice that I was losing weight. And there is also a doctor who belongs there who was another one of the very first people to notice my weight loss in the beginning. Oddly enough, he was losing weight right along with me, but he actually started his health and fitness plan just a little before I did and was a big inspiration to me because we were both pretty large and each had significant amounts of weight to lose.

As further proof of daily walking’s benefits, I told my friend to think back to when she lived in Argentina and how all the women and men who walked around the city were always the most fit and healthy of the bunch. Even with Tango, it was the walking that kept everyone on their toes!

The same goes for all of Europe and other countries where people walk a lot. They seem to have a lot less problem with obesity than we do and I don’t believe it’s all related to eating copious amounts of junk food, either.

Actually, I can show anyone how to lose weight by eating fast food – but that’s another story.

All I can say to you and my gal pal is: keep up your daily walks. If you’re not yet walking daily – start right now. It is the one and only way to lose weight and keep it off forever – trust me – combined with a good, effective diet, of course.

I do recommend you eventually buy a pedometer, however. And it really helps to record your daily walking totals and weight in your fitness journal every day. The numbers don’t lie. Use them all as motivation each and every day. You need to know where you’re going by seeing exactly where you’ve been. And your steady progress – no matter how small – will help you eventually push far beyond what you think your limits currently are.

After the 5-mile walk, it’s now 11 o’clock: Tried a Healthy Choice Café Steamer – the lowest carb one I could find. Beef Merlot: beef steak and red skin potatoes with vegetables, merlot wine sauce. 220 calories, 23g carbohydrates, 5g fiber. Now, that’s all the dietary label info I’m interested in for my personal low carb weight loss plan, however, the meal also contained 6g fat.

These new steamer meals have a unique double dish steam cooker setup that is quite interesting and worth trying if you like the steamer selections they offer.

For those of you who eat low carb, beware: most of the steamer dinners had high carb content. I stood there in the open freezer and checked each one, so I know.

Remember: try not to go over 25 carbs a meal when you eat these things. And that’s before subtracting the fiber. So read the carb and fiber content on all labels. And if you’re just starting your weight loss plan, go easy on these prepared frozen meals as you’re better off with a piece of broiled protein and a nice, big salad with lots of your favorite low carb veggies – you’ll come out with less carbs per meal that way, too.

Personally, this particular Healthy Choice selection was just OK. I much prefer some of the South Beach frozen low carb entrees as well as the Lean Cuisine low carb collection. It’s all a matter of taste

3 PM mid-afternoon snack: A fresh, crisp apple (COSTCO) with a side of wonderful 5-year old aged Gouda from Binney’s on Grand’s International cheese collection and a small handful of almonds (COSTCO).

Now I’m nice and full till 6:30 PM’s huge dinner salad. COSTCO carries these double bags of wonderful mixed lettuce called Parisian Blend with just the right portion size mini bags of feta cheese, dried cranberries (not many as they’re high on the glycemic index), and a small bag of toasted almonds.

Their portion control is handy because that way you won’t get carried away like you would if you had full bags of each of the three condiments. And you know you would, too. Little by little, your portion sizes of these tempting goodies would increase until, before you know it, your weight would not be budging.

Laura Lifestyle Law: If you’re weight ain’t moving in a downward direction, look at precisely what you’re eating and you’ll see exactly why.

Also, I do not eat the delicious dressing that comes with these salad packs – white balsamic vinegar, which in itself is wonderful, but this particular packaged dressing is too high in sugar, so I will use a small tablespoonful and then dilute it with fresh olive oil.

Now, maybe around 8 o’clock or so, I’ll have a frozen strawberry (COSTCO) smoothie with whole milk and a blop of Watchin’ Carbs brand vanilla ice cream from Donimick’s.

The frozen berries and the ice cream make for a nice, slushy combo when pulverized in your blender.

We have one of those awesome Vita Mixers that can grind up a car bumper if you’re so inclined, but any blender will do ya.

Anyway, Harris’s parents wanted him to grow up appreciating the value of a buck just like they did, so they treated Harris like all the rest of his inner city pals, even to the point of encouraging him to “work his way through college.”

Harris went to UCLA on a swimming scholarship, and even though he really didn’t need the money, he got a job at one of the most exclusive jewelry stores in all of Beverly Hills, 90210.

Now, Harris’s boss was a very wise man and he cautioned all his salespeople to treat everyone who walked through their front door like he or she was the King or Queen of Sheeba – no matter what they looked like or how they were dressed – always taking extreme care to give their clientele the utmost in customer service. Thus, the store’s distinctive reputation was known far and wide throughout the whole land.

One day, at Christmastime, this guy walks in to the jewelry store and strides right up to our friend, Harris, for help.

The new customer wore an old, faded sweatshirt inside out with the sleeves ripped off, one of those fishing hats, brim down, with fishing flies studding random sections of the sweat band, immaculately tailored and pressed faded blue denim cutoffs, perfectly manicured nails, and a two-week growth of old beard.

After the two men exchanged pleasantries, the guy gets down to business and has Harris pull several things out of the showcases so he can inspect them closer.

“These diamond earrings – here,” he points. “That emerald bracelet – there, and the sapphire and diamond necklace from over on the end – will do for starters.”

After selecting several more pricey items, it comes time for the guy to settle up, so he tells Harris he’d like to pay by check.

Harris’s boss’s customer service advice about treating everyone with the same respect, no matter what they looked like, rang instantly in his ears.

Swallowing hard, Harris tells the guy, “I’ll have to have the manager approve your payment, sir, and would you like all your purchases gift-wrapped?”

The guy shoots Harris a smile and says, “No problem, but put ‘em all in separate bags,” and he writes out the top check of a lone pack – no checkbook jacket or register – just the solitary wad of curled-up edged checks.

When the guy tears the check off the stack and hands it to Harris, he glances down to find the new fly-fishing customer standing right before him is none other than Howard Hughes.

So, it just goes to show ya that you can’t ever judge a checkbook – even when it has no cover.

Don’t ask me what made me put on the brakes and hang a ninety-degree left turn right through the store’s front door, because I have no idea. Well, other than my designer bag fetish, I have no idea. And I certainly know better than to fall in love with a highly-touted handbag that hangs in the window of that place. The last time I did, I came close to selling my soul for a Fendi with the most incredibly woven, curved, horn-like handles I’ve ever seen on a handbag. Till this day, that’s one of my top five fave designer bags of all time and it occupies a lofty place in the Fashionista Purse Universe Hall of Fame.

However, once I quickly make my way through the accessories department to the little waterfall display of “the” Balenciagas perched on top of a gorgeous wood and glass Nouveau-like cabinet-cum-counter, I was darn near helpless.

Boy, they sure know how to do it with their displays, don’t they? Most of their merch is so unique, it’s easy to see why they entice the elite to come and spend, spend, spend. If you have a serious yen for the most special of the special, fashion-wise, it’s all right here.

My hands, as if possessed, instantly make a bee-line for the bag in black, natch. (Laura Law: If you’re only gonna buy one, always buy black. Especially if it’s expensive.) Besides the leather’s scent and everything else elegant about that bag, the purse’s veins of dark charcoal marbling meandered through the leather giving it an extra nice visual texture in addition to the one it already had.

Anxiously, I slide the zipper open and fish around in the inside pocket for the price tag. There it is, $1195, written plain as day – except in my designer delirium and eidetic mind I think it reads, $195. Blinking in total disbelief, I blink once again just as the salesman arrives on the scene.

I must say, that bag had such a hold on me, for several seconds I toyed with the idea of whipping out my “secret” credit card – and you gals know what I mean – and plunking it down in the salesboy’s sweaty palms – because I’ve lusted after this bag for quite some time – number one. And number two – the salesguy snively looked down his long, pointy nose at me, narrowing his eyes and raising his right eyebrow thinking, like, maybe I couldn’t afford such a designer nicety. And you know how that can tick you off when it happens. There’s almost nothing I dislike more than an arrogant sales clerk who’s a little too full of his-self.

Thankfully, my sanity kicks in just in time returning me to my rightful mind and I tell the guy, “I’ll think about it.” Dizzy from the implied insult and sounding a little too weakly matter-of-fact, I walk toward the door.

Meanwhile, this Norma Desmond-looking salesgal sashays up and snatches said Balenciaga bag right out of salesboy’s slippery mitts where I left it.

“Where’re you goin’ with that bag!” I tease.

The next thing I know, the woman turns on me like a viper freshly sprung from her basket and rushes at me with the bag held out in front of her like she’s going to rub the dang thing in my face. Seriously! Screeching as she comes closer, “You wanna buy this bag, lady? Well, do you? Here. It’s yours. Take it! How you gonna pay for it?! Huh?

Please believe me when I say, I didn’t look like any friggin’ bag lady with a high-fashion fetish, nor was I dressed poorly, either. It was rather unseasonably cold out that day and I had on my trusty $450 Spyder snowboarder’s winter walking coat, so given my upscale out-doors-y appearance, I was quite taken aback at this old prune’s posture. I’ll bet a nice walk and some fresh air would do her a bit of good.

I wouldn’t buy a stick from that store after the rude treatment I received over that Balenciaga bag – even if the two sales clerks offered to chip in and buy it for me.

Well, maybe I could be forced to forgive and forget in that instance . . . however, there is quite a lesson to be learned here and I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. So, tune in.

This absolute hunk of a young guy sort of stealthily stalked me and my two Snob Hounds up Michigan Avenue – and right in front of Brooks Brothers, I turned and confronted him saying, “For stalking us up the street and then sneaking my little Snob Hounds picture, you have to take my business card as payment because I am the designer of the dogs’ duds.”

In today’s temps, little Lucky was decked out in his Swarovski crystal Snob Hounds logo, black Lycra SPEEDRACER and Ginger sported her Swarovski crystal Dragon motif SPEEDRACER in typical feminine fashion.

The young photo-hunk flashed me his most drop-dead gorgeous smile – looking very much like the French version of Ivana Trump’s new Huz – and said, “You must let me take another picture, then.”

(This guy’s smile could melt a polar ice cap with one glance. Seriously. I wonder what the French word for “Chihuahua!” is?)

Eventually, as soon as I re-composed myself, the pups and I gladly gave Frenchie our best Celeb-utante pose while he squeezed off another few shots.

“Just make sure you spell SNOB HOUNDS right, Mon Ami!” I shouted, speeding on up the street.

You had to be there, I guess, but the scene was straight out of a movie. I swear I even heard violins somewhere . . .

Certainly pays to take that walk everyday.

I know how persnickety they are when it’s wet underfoot and I didn’t feel like dragging Lucky-Boy all the way up to Michigan Avenue before he finally got the idea that I’m the Alpha and we’re taking the usual walkie to Chanel and back, regardless. Sometimes even the pups have their off days and I have to allow them.

The mist and fog hung so low, I could not see any higher than about six floors up on many of the buildings that line Wacker Drive. Even Trump’s Tower was shrouded in mystery. It’s also a fabulous day for taking photos, but I didn’t schlep the camera, so you’ll just have to use your imagination. The most dramatic days weather-wise are the best for walking, it seems. Real candy for the eye.

By the time I got up to the Ave., the soup lifted a bit higher and I could almost see the top of the Tribune Tower.

This is going to be a great day. I just know it.

Get out and walk for the health of it.

What made the one on the left stand out more than the one on the right was lefty’s bright, lipstick-red trench coat. There was something about the color of it – so exact, so fresh, and so red-hot that the sateen finish of the cloth made the coat seem to glow from within.

The length was perfectly mini-skirt proportioned ending at mid-thigh, and the back vent revealed a slim, black skirt underneath.

The only minor flaw I saw was that her skirt should’ve been hiked a waistband’s turn to bring it up inside her coat a tad instead of just being one inch too long and hanging there. She needed either a bit more or a tad less of that black skirt to show – but other than that, her look screamed “C’mon Spring!”

We caught up to the pair again at the next light and I took in more of what the red-coated gal had going for her.

She had beautifully healthy, tanned legs that were not particularly sensational in their shape – but back in the day – my best high school girlfriend used to refer to hers as “piano legs.” Now I get it.

Lefty’s feet were covered in bronze metallic patent leather, four-inch high-heeled Mary Jane’s that were awfully reminiscent of a favorite pair I had when I did Plus-Size modeling for many years. The nostalgic thought made me smile.

Her over-sized whatever bag, while in another shade of metallic bronze leather, was a bit “marshmallow-y, and slightly off, but E for Best Effort would be my grade – this gal greeted spring looking great and pulled together with plenty of pizzazz.

Sit Down For This One:
The Snob Hounds International Destinations for the Day are: Australia! And Israel!

The Australians were a hoot as only they can be, snapping pictures of my two little Snob Hounds, chatting and giggling with enthusiasm over everything about us.

One of the gals in the trio of Israeli’s wore a serious camera slung around her neck. She looked every inch a professional photographer and I could tell by her facial expressions and the way she crouched down, moving around the sidewalk in front of Chanel to take my dogs’ pictures, she was getting some real good shots.

Of course you know I gave each group of tourists my motivational flyer-Snob Hounds business card packet that I just happened to have eight of in my right-hand jacket pocket – along with my usual “commercial” about how the pups helped me to lose 130 pounds in 2.5 years, how they walk five miles every day with me, and how I had to keep them environmentally protected so I developed a line of canine clothing that’s like Nike meets Donna Karan.

After hearing my story, the Israeli photog gal gave me such a warm, friendly high-five that slipped instantly into a handshake-like grasp and jolted me with the most electrifying positive vibes I’ve felt come off of someone in a long time. I can tell that gal has some seriously strong vibes and incredibly good Karma. Sometimes you can just tell these things about certain people – especially through a handshake or touch. I know I can, anyway.

I can also tell when someone near me has tremendous envy, jealousy or hatred, too. I see it emanate from them like waves of a mirage shimmering down a distant dessert highway.

Anyway, it’s the daily encounters like this that make our walking so interesting. We attract the most fascinating and unusual like magnets.

But then, as they say, like usually attracts like.

For the first ten to fifteen minutes into our walk I kept telling myself to go back home, get gloves and even a warmer jacket – but the other half of my brain screamed that I was being a whuss, just looking for an excuse to turn back, and that in ten to twenty more minutes I’d be sufficiently warmed up enough not to notice the cold.

Ha! I’m home now and still waiting to warm up. It was that cold and windy today. And it’s April 14th, for cryin’ out loud. At least the sun came out for us but never offered any warmth because by the time its rays reached us, the wind chill stripped the heat right off.

The Snob Hounds International Destination of the Day award goes to Switzerland! Followed by the UK in a close second. Met some delightful folks visiting and taking pix of my two little Snob Hounds in their B&W Snow Leopard faux fur overcoats with their favorite multi-color swirl fleece PJ’s underneath.

Funniest comment of the day: “Can we please pet your little, baby sheep?” From the mouths of babes. The parents and I cracked up with that one. Seriously funny, but maybe you had to be there.

Sheep dogs, indeed. For some reason, when they wear these particular faux fur coats, a lot of people think they’re tiny sheep coming down the street.

Not a day goes by that we don’t hear some sort of crazy comment about my dogs’ Snob Hounds clothing – and the comments are always positive, fun and often times absolutely hilarious. Brings a smile to my face, too.

I glance out my patio door only to see raindrops the size of three-karat Tiffany solitaires – I swear – blowing sideways.

Steeling myself for the trek that lay ahead, I inform the Huz of my findings over my right shoulder. “Hail?” he inquires.

“Nope. Just plain rain,” I sigh.

Shoot. I wrote, worked and Voo-Doo danced my through the morning, putting off my walk because I had “important things to do” – and now it’s 10:30, the day is fleeting by and I’m staring out the windows at horizontal rock-sized raindrops.

It’s apparent to me the jig is up. Since I have to get out and do it anyway, I figure like this: if I have to bundle up to schlep over to East Bank Club to do the treadmill or the quarter-mile indoor track for an hour at least, I might as well schlep myself along my whole walking route while I’m at it. What’s the difference? Besides, I planned on picking up an important script from Walgreen’s on my way home anyway, so one way or another I have to get out and just get it over with. Rain or no rain.

I quickly remind myself that I’ve certainly walked in weather worse than this – but it’s been horizontal snow blowing in off the Lake at 40 MPH with an 18 below wind chill. Somehow the frozen stuff is easier to deal with on a walk than today’s soaker. Seriously.

What the hell. I bundle in the Spyder and fluffy knit scarf but draw the line at donning my Rocky-the-Flying-Squirrel aviator’s hat – THAT is strictly for winter blasts. This is spring, after all. We’re one-third into April, are we not?

Whoever thinks it’s easy for me to get out and do this walking thing day after day is crazy. It takes tremendous dedication and drive to be able to sustain the kind of daily walking I do, but the payoff is so incredible, so great that I don’t know how I could not get out and do it no matter what. All I have to do is look in the mirror to remind myself of what daily walking has done for me and I always end up doing it anyway, so I have no idea why I even torture myself so.

Hypnotized by my favorite music and the rhythm of the walk, the next thing I know, I’m streaking past my local Walgreen’s on my way east up Ontario. I remind myself that I must come home this exact route to get the script because now, once I’m this far, I’m already warmed up and into the walk so the last thing I want to do is break my big mo by stopping now. I press on.

Trying to talk myself out of going the whole way to the usual turn-around point at the end of Chanel on Michigan and Oak, I tell myself to see how I feel by the time I get to The Ave and then decide if I want to continue on or not.

But, as is always the case, the next time I am conscious of my surroundings is at Neiman-Marcus’ front door, already on Michigan, several blocks north of Ontario.

“You’ve come too far to turn around now,” I muse. “Just a few more wet and windy blocks to Oak Street. What kind of a whuss are you anyway?”

Next conscious point is in front of Water Tower – some nut kneeling on the swampy sidewalk taking pictures of the monument itself snaps my attention. There are those who won’t even consider getting out to walk in this kind of weather and here’s a guy so motivated to get that perfectly mysterious shot, he’s on his knees as if in thanks for merely being alive.

As I approach the Hancock, I’m aware that my legs are keeping pretty dry. My feet are just a wee-bit wet.

On the southeast corner of Michigan and Oak, I cross back west and head for home eventually via my Walgreen’s.

I must remember to stop and get that script, otherwise I’ll have to venture back out and who has that kind of time today? My day is already jammed with appointments, physical therapy, manicure, pedicure and Pilates, so there’s not a second more for additional cardio, and I refuse to drive where I can walk these days, so . . .

Streaking past the eternally gorgeous 4th Presbyterian Church, a lightening bolt flashes and the sky rips open even more. Rain pours down so hard that it bounces up to my knees now soaking my legs from the bottom of my Spyder down to my feet. My shoes feel full and begin to squish. “Keep your ass moving,” is all I can think. “And stop at Walgreen’s!”

I obsess about the Walgreen’s stop because many a time I’ve blasted right past some errand destination while incredibly intent on my walking way. Today is not the day to miss my one and only stop.

For as miserable as it is outside, I have to say the best, most dramatic walks are always on the crappiest days. Trust me on this. Something about the drama of it all.

I arrive home, script in hand – yes, I made the stop, managing not to get arrested for strangling the pharmacy tech for taking so dang long to check me out when I was the only person in line.

“Sweat is dripping down my back like the rainwater off your drive-up roof. I’ve just walked five miles, I’m hyper-heated and it’s about nine thousand degrees inside my coat – so could you please speed it up, young lady?” Is what I really want to say, but smile – mentally choking her instead.

This is daily walking in the big city in the rain. Excuse me, make that horizontal rain, bouncing rain, soaking rain. Rain – rain.

Walk today for the health of it. Walk today for your life.