Like most people, I have climbed a lot of hills in my life.
Actually, I probably haven’t climbed as many as most people, but I’ve climbed my share.
I climbed the stairs up one of the Kolomoki mounds in Georgia once.
I stood on the top and felt proud of myself.
I’ve been to Capitol Hill.
I guess I could write about those hills, but I’d rather tell you about how a hill helped me get healthier.
It’s a steep hill near Nana’s house, to the right of a fenced pasture where some of my cousin’s cattle graze.
We used to ride a golf cart down it, with the pedal to the floor, just for sheer, bumpy enjoyment.
I remember one occasion when the golf cart backfired at the bottom and the grass caught on fire.
Fast forward a few years from the flash fire, to a time when I was heavier than I am now.
Actually, I was way too heavy. I carried a lot more weight than my frame’s built to handle.
I still do, but I’m not as far from normal weight range as I have been.
The hill is one reason I’ve made a little progress.
When I made the decision to lose weight, I changed the way I ate and I started to exercise.
When I began regular walks, I felt sure I’d die when my lungs exploded or one of my ribs burst out through my side.
I lived, and the walks got easier.
I added time and distance.
I added the hill, and built up to four miles a day.
I stopped after I got a blood blister on one of my big toes.
I rarely walk now, at least not like I did, and I’ve been less strict about food.
I’d put 30 pounds back on by the time I started to try to lose it again.
I’ve lost eight pounds in an up-and-down effort since the coronavirus quarantine started.
I think it’s time to walk the hill.
This post is a response to Sue’s prompt, which is “hill.”