Pain-ski All Over

There are nine stairs from our living room area to the upper level where our bedroom and bathroom are located. I know this because my husband and I went cross country skiing this weekend and my muscles have been angry with me ever since.  Each step up–or down–causes me to reflect on how in shape I am. Or, more evidently, am not.

Hey, I walk the dog twice a day which–before you poo-poo me–isn’t as lazy as it sounds. Our husky, Booker, often pretends he is a powerful motor boat and pulls me behind his leash like a hapless water skier hitting wake-waves.  Given the icy roads, I’m lucky I stay vertical as often as I do.

Picture this scenario…Squirrel! Dog sees squirrel. Squirrel sees dog. Squirrel runs in other direction. Dog runs really really fast after squirrel, and does NOT consider leash is only so long. Stupor-like woman holding leash reacts too slowly. Boom. Woman’s butt-meets-ground. Squirrel finds tree and chitters at us. Dog looks back and wonders what woman’s problem is.

So, you’d think I’d be up to a couple hours of shuffling through the snow, right? Apparently not. And then, about a hundred feet before we were to reach the parking lot and the comfort of our vehicle, my husband fell while on his skis and proceeded to do his impression of a wood tick flailing on its back.  “What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think I just tipped over.”

For whatever reason that statement and mental visual gave me the giggles (see last weeks entry for my problem with this), so I laughed until my stomach hurt.  Now I’ve got to contend with those muscles too. Too much fun in my life? Yeah, it’s the best part of my day.