Walk-a-ton.

I’ve collected a ton of new readers recently, which is super great, but I’m a little bit at a loss about it, because nothing about this blog is interesting anymore. I mean, I’m not talking about periods or acne or babies all that much, guys. I’m not discussing anything of note, really, except that I’ve been a massive and insufferable misery for the past seven months. And I haven’t even been brave enough to discuss the half of it. Regardless, I still feel like I should acknowledge all my new followers by saying genuinely and from the bottom of my heart, welcome, Fake Internet Profiles Who Want To Sell Me Prado Bags And Gucchi Sunglasses. I hope you enjoy reading about how much I hate walking. Because that’s what’s coming.

If you’re a follower/computer program that is new to this blog, you may not be aware that I am from Los Angeles, California, and that I am currently living in England. This move has forced me to adjust in myriad ways – most of them positive. However, one of these adjustments is making me crazy. Which one, you ask? Oh, only that I need to use my own two feet to get anywhere I want to go. I, a member of a species resting at the pinnacle of bipedal evolution, hate walking.

It wasn’t always this way. In LA, when I sat in traffic in my car for nearly three hours every day commuting to and from work, I longed for a time when I didn’t need a vehicle to get around. In the first few weeks I lived here, I loved that I was walking everywhere. If I’m honest, there are definite positives. I started eating normally again (after literally living off a handful of cashews a day for months) and haven’t gained any of the weight back, because I’m now exercising about 100% more than I did in years before I moved. My commute now requires that I am outside moving around in the fresh air for at least 45 minutes every day – it’s a “workout” that is built into my daily routine. That’s all good.

There are two things that aren’t. Namely, 1) that my poor lazy old lady bones are over the grind and 2) sometimes it would be really great to just DRIVE somewhere.

1) I made it about five weeks into my new all walking, all the time lifestyle before both my ankles and a tendon in my left foot decided that enough was enough. Then each step of the average four miles I walk a day was less about the beautiful crisp late winter air and more about a deep, intense longing for a seat in something with four wheels. For nearly two weeks, both my feet demanded days of rest, and for nearly two weeks, I just kept on walking. Fortunately, randomly, they’re better now, mostly because I think they have Stockholm Syndrome. If they must walk me everywhere, they might as well shut up about it.

2) Today, I was supposed to receive a giant package full of weirdo herbal supplements and teas in the mail, because I am nothing if not a giant California cliche (and also because my skin is frightful nightmare here and I’m going to attempt to wrangle it into submission with a bunch of crazy people vitamins I read about online. You’ll hear more about it. Trust.). Unfortunately for me, Royal Mail does not leave packages on the doorstep like the United States Postal Service does. If it doesn’t fit through the mail slot in the front door, and no one is home to receive the package, it gets taken back to the local delivery office to await pick up. I’ve had that happen with UPS shipments at home before and while it’s mildly to moderately annoying, it is decidedly less annoying than having your shipment stolen from your porch (something I have also experienced), so I accept that this extra precautionary step is a necessary evil. However, it becomes more difficult to appreciate having to pick up your very important dandelion root tea and agnus castus capsules from a Royal Mail Delivery Office when you have no car and that delivery office is two miles away through the worst part of town.

What’s a lazy, panicky idiot to do when faced with the prospect of taking an hour walk roundtrip through a neighborhood famed for its hookers and crack dens?

She plans on taking a taxi to the delivery office tomorrow afternoon. Because no.

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6 thoughts on “Walk-a-ton.

  1. Aww your poor feet. They do this thing though, where they will take it to your nearest sub post office for collection – a handy tip for the future. Also worth saying that outside London, we do drive pretty much everywhere.

    • I know! I looked into having it delivered to a sub post office, but that too was just far enough away that I decided to wait it out and reschedule delivery to the house on Saturday, when I will be home waiting with baited breath for my precious, precious vitamins to arrive.

      🙂

  2. Oh, new readers, that’s me! You wrote a post for me! I was trying to write my own “about” page so I researched others. You were the top commenter on DonOfAllTrades’ “about” page so I checked out yours and wound up reading your blog from beginning to middle.
    Sorry to hear about the divorce, but I began to have my suspicions when several years into your marriage you decorated the house for Valentine’s Day for the first time ever.

      • First, I should point out that my navel gazing conclusions are wrong often.
        However, what stood out wasn’t Valentine decorating, but the change in behavior. Throughout the dating, the engagement, and the first couple of years of marriage, you never felt the need to decorate for Valentine’s Day, but in 2013, that changed.
        It could have just been a whim, but my reaction was “uh oh”

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