Just call me speedy!

I have an Adonis-like physique. In the interest of modesty, and to keep groupies from invading my peaceful neighborhood (translation … wake the dead), I cleverly mask said physique with a mass of flesh that is the envy of even the fittest of pears. How do I maintain my glorious figure? First there is my intense guided workout … The Brown Dog Fitness Program (← a blatant plug for one of my other blogs). Second I carefully watch what I eat. I watch it as it leaves the plate, closet, ‘ fridge, and continue to watch it until it enters my mouth. With such a rigorous health plan, it is unsurprising that I am the poster boy for Couch Potato Weekly.

I am bringing my brag on because I did not realize how effective my efforts have been. Due to some local road work that promises to be eternal, during peak travel time traffic is rerouted to side streets … specifically the one that I usually find myself on during my tri-daily harvesting of dog poop. Being a nice, quiet domestic neighborhood, it practically screams, "Embrace your inner racing demon!" In the interest of public safety (or maybe just for personal record keeping) the wise powers that be … instead of actually speeding up the construction project, thus re-rerouting the traffic … has placed one of those signs that tells one how fast they are going. No doubt this sign will fill these speed demons with remorse so that they change their evil ways.

"couchSo there I am, walking at a leisurely pace (when not being dragged one way or another by Brown Dog), and I see this new addition to the street decor. It specifically catches my eye because it seems to be registering me. Walking. I glance over my shoulder, to make sure there is no car creeping along behind me, but no … B. D. and I are the only objects moving towards the sign. It kind of surprised me that the sign actually registered a walking pace. It even surprised me more that it told me I was walking at 8 miles an hour. I would have said it was a fluke, except it has happened every time I’ve walked by the sign now. It varies from 5 to 9 m. p. h., but seems to settle at 8 most often.

Apparently I have been vastly improving my fitness without even realizing it. Sure it is not inconceivable for a human to move at that pace. It is not even fast. But it does require actually … well … RUNNING. Not ambling along in glorious apathy. I can only explain my taking a half an hour to walk our average mile walk (2 m. p. h. by MY math) as my failure to adapt to the new math, because there is no way the technology would LIE to me.

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