Yesterday marked six months since my snowmobiling accident. And guess what I did in the morning? Jogged three miles!
Okay, so I wogged. And even walked part of the way. But I was out there, basically jogging. Give me a little time, I might be up to five miles a day again soon.
I tried jogging a few weeks ago in Coeur d'Alene, just going one-third of a mile to start. Didn't work too well. Hurt my foot, and after three days of working up to one mile, I nixed the idea for the present and went back to the illiptical machine. The broken bone isn't the problem. That's long healed. It's all the ligament damage I did. Those suckers take a long time to heal. Yesterday I thought I'd try just a little distance again, but my shoes felt good and nothing hurt, so I went for it. Apparently, it is all in the shoes. My pair in California are much newer than the ones in Cd'A. Better support.
To top the day off--I see G.G. Yup, our favorite lifesize Gray Gorrilla was sitting on his front porch, as fine as he could be. He sported a bright green top and pants and wore one of those orange life vests over his wide shoulders. No doubt he was enjoying a little skiing over the holiday weekend.
And--while I'm chatting on in this personal post--daughter Amberly is now ensconced in college. Man, those rooms are tiny. I walked in and gulped. A girl who's used to occupying four bedrooms is now reduced to one-half a little-bitty room area. But she didn't blink an eye. She was far too excited. The space is hers, see. All hers.
Except Mom and Dad are paying for it.
In work news (since this is supposed to be about the fiction world)--I started a new book yesterday. A stand-alone adult suspense. Due December 15.
Yikes Better go write!