Today I am 33 going on 70. I feel broken. All my muscles hurt. My magic pony Pegasus (more personality than the traditional broomstick) and I went riding up in the Richmond hills yesterday - blasting up mountain bike trails, leaping up steep banks in a single horsey bound. Unfortunately we were both so unfit it was inevitable the steam would run out... and it did, about halfway up a very steep hill. We are both fatter and lazier than ever. I think perhaps the only answer is to do it all more often so the aftermath isn't so painful. Not that I've spoken to Pegasus yet today to see how he's feeling. He doesn't say much anyway and what he does say is pretty much always centred around food or long-legged mares.
Despite all the pain I've still managed to wear to work today the 3-inch stilleto fake snakeskin boots I bought last week in a sale. They were just crying out to me from the wardrobe and I couldn't deny them. Gotta walk the walk, eh.
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