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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Tonight, around 11 PM, I went streaking around Dorval and Pointe Claire.
Clarification: by "streaking" I mean maintaining a streak of something. My aunt Sarah is my inspiration for moderate streaking: she tries to do a Spanish lesson on Duolingo every day, but isn't fundamentalist-strict about it, choosing a setting that allows for "cheat days."
I decided to take that approach to my "walk for one hour every day" goal, which I've had since, what, December? First of all, it's turned into "do an active forward-movement thing a hour every day" - walking, biking, swimming, or a mix of any of these. Anyway, the approach is, "Try to do it every day but don't stress out if you don't get around to it."
I had a streak of thirty days recently, but...things happen. Rain. Laziness. Strained foot. Today it was trying to finish a short story. That was my day's main work, and in the evening I biked to a marketing committee meeting for the Gilbert and Sullivan group.
As I biked back, it occurred to me that I hadn't reached my daily walk-or-bike goal. So I streaked through the night from Dorval to Pointe Claire, hitting the notoriously bumpy stretch of Donegani that doesn't have a bike lane. Reckless? Slightly. But hardly anyone was around, except around two local pubs.
Around around. I avoid potholes, swerving around, or am jolted up and down. I look around. I try to keep my eyes on the road. When it bumps me, I'm not upset...as in bowled over. Calm instead, cool as the air. Collected as much as my jumble of thoughts can be.
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