I am out of shape, and here’s how I know: I was tired today, after walking a mile and a half.
Which is how long it takes me to get from the faraway subway to my house. I started taking the farther train, BTW, because I couldn’t face the gym and I figured I should start to do some kind of physical activity before I became completely spherical like Tweedle Dee and/or Dum. When you decide that walking a mile equals a workout, you are officially one walker away from water aerobics.
The good news is that I was sort of born to be an old lady. I already have a bum hip and am given to saying things like, “My stars and garters!” This, completely without irony and just because I think that’s a normal reaction to unexpected news.
Clearly, I need to start fooling Sgt. Lucky into working out with me. It will probably worsen his physical condition, but it might shame me into doing more than hobbling down the street in a straight line and calling it exercise.