7.5

I am trying to keep up with my 7.5's:

7.5 miles of walk, or walk/run, and best of all, my run/walks (not clear up to a complete 7.5-mile run, but hope springs eternal.) The former dictates which I did more of, walk or run, and the latter, the lesser movement.

I began this activity in September, or August, after watching the College Boy Graham head out one day on one of his runs in the triple-digit heat. I was watching through the study window as he effortlessly ran down the road. "I want to be able to do that", I thought to myself. I hadn't done "that" for several months, given the heat of the summer and my inability to cope with it.

So as soon as the summer heat abated a bit, I started out, first on walks. I didn't start out on a 1-mile walk, though. I started out on a 7.5 mile walk. Why piddle around with what the "experts" say? The 7.5 miles is the distance from our house, around three-quarters of the section to the community cemetery, and back. An out & back, in running lingo. I chose this route so that I wouldn't have to contend with the pit bull at mile 3.5, were I to loop the section.
And, because our section is wonky, it comes to 7.5 miles instead of 6.

After a month or so of the 7.5, I threw in a 10 or 11-mile hike once a week. I used to be able to do it, I told myself. And I was right: I can still do it, albeit slower than I did, say 15 years ago. Quite a bit slower.

College Boy Graham can run ten miles and come indoors as if he accomplished a waltz across the road. If I go ten miles, I arrange for a bottle drop, either by myself, or by that Spouse o' Mine. And it takes a couple of hours. Come to think of it, the College Boy can run 20 miles and probably be home before I complete my ten miles. Nevertheless, I am out there doing it.

On a running portion of my 7.5 miles last week, towards the last when I was feeling spent, I flushed a covey of quail and I very nearly had a heart attack. It scared the daylights out of me. (Death by quail?)

This afternoon, I was midway through my miles and all of a sudden a beautiful pheasant flew up in front of me. He was really pretty. I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill a pretty bird just to eat it.

I suppose there are those who can't imagine hiking 7.5 miles just to write about it.