Time to walk the hill

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.”