(Cont’d)
I guess the interchangeability of the terms “hiking” vs. “walking” depends only on the sloping grade of the street and the ground's composition of dirt versus concrete. Hiking has always been a way of life in LA, but now it's a mental welfare exercise. Sometimes I'm dripping sweat on the dusty final climb to Griffith Observatory; other times, strolling through the tree-lined, Adventures of Pete & Pete-esque streets that somehow exist in nooks of LA and Pasadena. No matter where, I've just got to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I finally get the endorphins poppin' and that slight numbness in my legs that signifies that I can go back home and, now guiltlessly, lie in repose with my surly cat and watch Dave Navarro thank Taco Bell for its sponsorship of Ink Master in episode after cursed episode, or maybe call my mom and ask her to talk about partying in the 70s so that I can live vicariously through her stories. This is all to say that, like all of us, I'm doing my best, but feeling motivated to exercise is not always easy.
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