50.4 miles

I have a new friend, neighbor, walking partner. Dana. It seems hard to believe that I met her only 2 weeks ago today, as we have covered a LOT of territory in the last 2 weeks, both topographical and conversational.

Dana was a guest at Rani's going-away party, and, it so happens, a neighbor. We hit it off right away, which, if you meet her, would be no big surprise, as Dana seems to hit it off with everyone right away. That's JUST the kind of person she is.

I was thrilled to have met someone interested in walking, I needed the motivation; I wasn't sure if I would actually crank out TWO WHOLE MILES a day on my own; I'd probably find excuses...

We laced up and hit the street for the first time 11 days ago. We walked clear to the next town, but I admit we live on "the border." An hour-and-45 minutes later, we were wrapping up about 5 miles, by our estimate. We agreed to meet the next day....and every day after that. We've missed 1 or 2, but are determined to keep going.

After a week, I finally mapped out our path. 5.8 miles from the starting point! And we walk to the starting point. Yeesh! No wonder getting out of a chair was so excruciating for the first 3 days of last week.

It got easier by day 4, and it's been a cake-walk since then, save a few rough spots after her personal trainer cracked the whip, and both of our shins (that is, all 4 of our shins) screamed bloody murder after we decided that shiny new shoes would be a good investment.

It's been so fun! We meet up and start yakking our fool female heads off, talking and venting and clucking away until we're home already! We're not even done talking!

Dana is a brilliant conversationalist. She's a African Art History Professor at the university, and has amazing tales of traveling and living in Africa. Not to be outdone, I am wow'ing her with stories of becoming a local celebrity for photographing roadkill. We are quite a match.

She has also taught me a few other very important things, things that all female walkers, runners, and worker-outer's should know. Invaluable tidibits: German women have a term for that chafing that occurs when your thighs rub together while walking or running. (If you have no idea what we're talking about, then you just shut up.) "It's called Wolf," she told me.

Not wanting to risk grammatical faux pas, I asked her please to use it in a sentence. "I've got the wolf," she said. Ohhhh. THE wolf. My mind is a sponge. I pushed on: what's it called if the rash is under your arms? Because it so happens that my t-shirt sleeves have rubbed a wolf on my inner arm, from swinging my arms while I walk.

"That's a coyote," she said, all knowingly. She TOTALLY made that up, but I'm using it anyway. "I have the coyote."

Anyway, we're walking and walking, and we celebrated the 50-mile mark with glasses of cool ice-tea at the snooty wine-shop in our neighborhood, once we determined that they'd let 2 sweaty women frequent their sidewalk cafe.

We've plans to celebrate the 100-mile mark with real live wine. Then we'll be sweaty and drunk, and I imagine it won't be long before Sunsinger Wines incorporates a dress code: No gym shorts, no tennis shoes...no coyotes.