It's been years since I walked home from work in winter- the last time being early 2015 and my knees screaming all the way. I wasn't intending to today; was happily on the Spadina car and into the station and found the platforms black with people: "there is a delay both ways at Ossington Station while we investigate a fire." Erm, yes. So I went back out and walked three blocks to the Thai restaurant that makes good Cosmopolitans, and had two of those and cold rolls, which last satisfied my vegetable requirements for the day. And then I started walking, and kept on walking, along the greasy sidewalks of Bloor St. My knees didn't hurt: cortisone shots and *maybe* strengthening exercises have taken care of those. My feet didn't hurt: I now have a bunion guard that stops the horrible chafing of boots, even though it needs gauze and tape to keep it from slipping. My *back* hurt intensely, in spite of alcohol, which has been known to quiet it. But I had my heavy wood staff to pole me through the snow and could stop and lean on that every thirty yards or so until I heard the satisfying clunk of spinal things going back where they belong, and eventually I wound up at home.
And did half an hour of stretches to soothe my poor abused muscles.
I hope the staff isn't what's making my tendinitis flare up so badly. Would rather it be the very little bit of snow sweeping I did yesterday, but I doubt it.