Last Sunday I decided to start walking again. I've spent all Winter hibernating in my knit cave in the basement and I know my fitness level has suffered. I wish I could emerge in the Spring with some of last year's poundage melted away like a bear's girth but I would have to stop eating all Winter too and there simply isn't much else to do around here when it's pouring buckets 24/7. I have my yearly checkup with the new doctor (I wonder how many years I will think of him as my NEW doctor.) fast approaching and with it the requisite lab tests. I don't want to hear, "Another half point and you'll be a diabetic." or "Here's a prescription to help get your cholesterol down." So, this past week I walked for 30 minutes every other day and that's just to start. I want to gradually work up to 60 minutes five days a week. GAD! I HATE exercise. But I am trying. Now, here is the sad part: When I started walking the track this afternoon there was an elderly gentleman strolling along not too far ahead of me. As I breathlessly finished my last lap I realized he was now behind me. This elderly, ambling fellow had almost caught up to me. How pathetic is that? Yes, it is sad but I'm still trying.