I managed to walk eight miles on Wednesday. I was feeling pretty good about that. I generally do five on Sunday, six on four of the other days, and seven on two days. I find that walking in smaller periods, say, twenty to forty minutes at a time, helps me achieve my goals, so I that’s my plan. Eight miles was an impromptu reach.
That effort changed in my final hour. Somewhere in that time, my left Achilles tendon began expressing second thoughts. I pushed through it. Eventually, when you get old enough, some part of your body has second thoughts about going on. Although they manage to make themselves a vocal minority, I can usually push through. Seeing that they’re not stopping me, they then shut up.
Ah, not this tendon. No. It remained as vocal as a starving cat.
The tendon stiffened overnight. Yesterday was painful, especially up hills and steps. Only five and a half miles were achieved, and a flight less than the ten flights that were my goal.
The tendon remains troubling today. I’ve learned through testing that it’ll stiffen up when I sit for extended period, but flexing it when I first stand loosens it. Then, as I walk, it grows a little looser, although it remains a painful process. With a little grit, I can manage a slower imitation of my usual gait, but sometimes, when I’m first struggling with it, I’m moving like John Wayne in “True Grit,” pilgrim.