We lived in the mountains. And they sure were beautiful – but for reasons unknown to me I wasn’t able to make walking a habit there. Too much up & too much down. No sidewalks. I just knew that if I lived by a sidewalk I would practically be an athlete!
Then we lived in a city. The terrain was pretty flat. There was a sidewalk just outside my door – at the bottom of two flights of stairs. Getting to the sidewalk wasn’t a problem, and walking wasn’t a problem (except for the cars whizzing past & ruining my reverie). Getting back up to the 3rd floor was the problem – dragging myself up & thinking that this IS NOT fun! Forget being an athlete – I’ll be a master Spider Solitaire player!
Now I live in a small town. In a neighborhood built in the 1950s. In a box made of ticky tacky. And my sidewalk is just THERE. And when I get back from my walk I sidle in the front door like it was a piece of cake. And it WAS a piece of cake. I’ll be an athlete yet!
But only if there’s cake.