Thereís never a day when I say, ďOh, yeah. This is going to feel so good. I canít wait to get on the treadmill for thirty minutes.Ē Maybe there are people who feel that way about working out, but Iím not one of them. And yet, I still do it, four or five days a week (although sometimes I donít last the whole thirty minutes, especially when itís so ridiculously hot). Do I get a prize? I suppose the prize is that I get to keep doing it a few more years, in better health than when I started
However much time I spend on the treadmill on a hot day like this, at least itís inside, where I can control the temperature, as long as the electricity running my fans stays on. You can bet that not a lick of yard work is getting done, and none will be attempted until the heat wave breaks. Then I will have to find another excuse, which is usually no problem. If itís not too hot, maybe it will be too cold, or too windy, or too just right. I canít put it off forever, though, as the wild grasses get higher and browner by the day.
Twice today I ventured outside the cool confines of the house. Once was to walk out to the road and get my mail. Out there I came upon two vehicles, one with the hood up, parked at the end of my driveway. Everyone smiled, but no one spoke English, so I just walked around them to my mailbox. They were gone within half an hour.
My other trip outside came from the inspiration I had to use the top of the birch tree that blew down in January as an extra perch for the birds around my feeder. Itís in pretty shabby shape by now, but I dragged it around the house and placed it the best I could. So far, not much action. Theyíre still clinging precariously to the splinters and upright beams of the porch structure. Sometimes there are so many of them hovering around the feeder that I think they must be landing on each other.