To Carey just now, I said, “I think I walked myself sick. I feel pretty nauseous.”
“Drink lots of water*!” she lectured, followed by other ‘I’m Being Stern Because I Care’ sentiments.
*(Originally, I typed, “Drink lots of walk!” That’s how consumed I am with this. I might even start watching every season of “Walker, Texas Ranger”. CHAMPIONSHIP WALKING 4 LYFE.)
“Yeah, but I have almost 20,000 steps for the day already!” I cried defensively. (19,755 to be exact, and it’s only 6:30.)
(My friends are even having dreams about me and my steps now and I love it.)
(OK, it was one friend. But clearly Gina is my BEST friend now. If she plays her cards right, I might start walking to her house for no reason.)
“That’s great!” Carey enthused, and I thought she actually was being supportive until she tacked on, “but when you’re lying in a grave, your pedometer isn’t going to work.”
DANG, YA’LL.
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Is there a rehab for walking?
a 12-step program perhaps?
Best comment!