Walk of Shame

I've always wanted to use that title for something other than mistakes I've made after nights of drinking a tad too much. Sadly, that day has arrived.

There is not much in the this world that's more humiliating than walking the same route you used to run. Nothing. It was so humiliating in fact, that I chose to wear non-runner clothing this morning. That's right, just another walker out at 5:30 AM for her morning constitutional.

So last night, when I got home from work, I panicked a bit. There's no way I can just do core work and PT indoors and hope to maintain my weight and fitness. I need to be outside doing something. But I can't run. And I don't have a bike. What do I do? The realization hit me in the face like a gust of wind between Irving Park and Clarendon.

I. Must. Walk.

Briskly, but still, it's walking. Thus, I put on my sweat pants and then put on my super-awesome Nike running jacket, along with hat, gloves, and le Petit iPod. The wind was bracing. You just don't realize how cold it is when you aren't sweating like a you-know-what in a you-know-where. So, I walked as fast as I could on my normal running route. South from Roscoe, Belmont to the Lakefront path, then South over the Bridge at Fullerton. Normally, I can cover this distance in less than 30 minutes. This time it took me well over 45 minutes.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh the SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAME! I couldn't even look people in the eye when they passed me.

I know I need to get over this. But the end isn't in site yet, so I choose to wallow. And dammit, this is America and I can wallow if I want to!

The upside is, when you're walking, you can concentrate on people around you a bit more. Like the hot rear-ends of dudes who pass you. Because you're going that slow. Or the wonderful Chicago skyline.

Maybe I'll try to take some pictures. Since I'm not sweating nearly enough to worry about my camera breaking. Pictures of the skyline, not the rear-ends, that is.