My Son Is Trying To Run Me Ragged

There was a point yesterday when I didn’t think I was going to hit my walking goal. And then we had to go do some shopping. At a mall, which I barely even realize is a thing these days. Usually, I don’t bother to go into one any more – not because of any elitist attitudes, but simply because most of the shops I visit are outside the remaining malls.  I’m a big guy who likes to read, and none of the malls in the area cater to either category.  But the one we needed yesterday was in one, so off we went.

My son loved it. Because there were escalators.

I remember that affection for those moving staircases, because I had the same fascination when I was a child. They’re magic, or at least they seem magic. Staircases that carry you up without walking. Or, if you’re young and ambitious, let you climb the stairs really fast. Really, really fast.

Guess which option my son went with?

I must have walked up and down the escalators three or four times, and every time he’d look at me and ask if we could do it again. And I didn’t have the heart to say no, because I wasn’t doing anything particularly pressing and because I needed to get my walking done. As a result, I hit nearly six miles by the end of the day.

Kids. The ultimate workout accessory.

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