About half way along my gait slows and I agonize if I am ever going to make the self-imposed three miles, and I chastise myself something wicked for believing that exercise is a great healthy goal. It is, isn't it?
Wildlife abound on strolls where I pay attention to what's around my and not at my sneakers underfoot. The birds provide a better melody than my iTunes, and the cool breezes from the rustling branches help relieve the sweat pouring from my back.
My pedometer announces I've made three-fourths of the walk and the end is possible now. My steps speed up and my emotions are much more hopeful. It is no longer a forced march.
Drinking from my water bottle. Stretching. Slipping on a light jacket. I'm good to go for another day.