I had to get a flat tire fixed yesterday, thanks to running over a screw on the interstate.
No, wait. Bear with me. This will relate to health and physical fitness, I promise.
The car had to be towed to the shop I use, because it also turns out that I don’t have a spare tire – something I’ll need to take care of, one of these days. So I go through the routine of telling them which car is mine (“the one with the flat tire”) and handing them my keys, and then I look around. The place is packed. So I look back a the man behind the counter and ask how long it will take.
He looks around as well. “Two, maybe three hours.”
Well, that sucks. I brought a book, sure. But I’m halfway through it and it’ll take me a lot less than two hours to finish it. So I give him my cell phone number and say I’ll be back. Then I step outside, intending to walk a little ways and get lunch. And that’s when an imp of the perverse jumps up on my shoulder and says:
“The tow truck GPS said it was 2.6 miles from home to here. I wonder if I could walk that?”
I thought about that for a minute. Then I thought about how I wasn’t particularly hungry, and about how I didn’t want to finish my book and then go aimlessly window shop in stores I don’t care about, and about how I didn’t just want to sit in a tire store and be bored while I wait. But I also thought about how it was humid and ninety degrees, and how I’d be walking alongside a busy state road.
“But there’s a sidewalk,” the imp said.
I thought a little longer, and then pushed the button on my FitBit and started walking. Exactly one hour and 2.91 miles later, I was opening the door of my condo. The first thing I did was pull off my t-shirt (which was soaked with sweat) and drink a quart of ice water. The second thing I did was pour myself more water, and sit down. And that’s when it hit me.
I wasn’t sore.
Oh, I felt it in my legs. They were tired, and I was glad to be sitting down. But… I wasn’t sore. Nothing ached (except for the prickling on my sunburned neck). I had just walked nearly three miles without once stopping to rest. And I felt great!
Ten minutes later the tire place called to check on the tire they’d use, and to tell me that I could pick up the car in about half an hour. “You could walk back to pick it up,” the imp said.
Yeah, right. I drank my water, and drove back. There is a such thing as “too much of a good thing”, after all.