You sure have a unique stride there,” he says, pulling up beside me on the path, low-to-the ground on his three-wheel, aerodynamic bike. “It’s neat though, real neat.”“Yeah, it’s not the most efficient,” I agree, pushing a sweaty strand away from my face. “But it still gets me where I need to go.”
He’s right. My running stride is awkward and graceless. I galumph. Like Bullwinkle in a tank top and Nikes. Rather than kicking straight up and back, my feet swing out to either side. It looks a little like I’m swinging an invisible lemon loop round and round my right ankle while I run. I nick my ankles so often with my own sneakers they bleed, sometimes right through my socks.
I’ve tried on occasion to correct my gait, concentrating on keeping my body long and lean, my feet in line with my hips instead of flinging wildly from side to side. But I always give up. I figure I’m not out to break any speed records. I simply want to burn the maximum number of calories in the shortest time possible. And like I told the cyclist on the trail: my stride, flawed and funky as it is, gets me where I need to go.
...I'm over at Her View From Home today...meet over there for the rest of this story?
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