I started walking as an alternative to the Metro or the bus. I like both, but I also like getting to see DC, and public transportation sometimes blocks you off from the city. So that’s why I started walking, which I was actually doing last summer. However, I wasn’t very religious about it. Then my sister told me she was getting married, and I wanted to lose a lot of weight by the wedding (about two weeks ago), so I determined (back in March), to resume my walking, to watch my food intake, and to drop weight.

And, originally: that’s all it was. I would walk home from my part-time job every night that I could. That’s two miles. On weekends that I worked there, I’d walk to and from work. On days I didn’t, I’d walk to the Target in Columbia Heights and back. And then I started taking walks through the city. And when I say “through the city”, that’s a lie, because I usually stick to the same areas: Georgetown, Dupont, Adams Morgan, the National Mall. And usually there was nothing exciting about these. I’d walk south on Connecticut to Dupont, then over to Georgetown, then up Wisconsin, and my feet would ache and I’d be done and eat a whole bag of Ginger Snap cookies and several cold glasses of milk.

And then one day, I went for a walk. My goal was to get to Georgetown University, where I’d never been. Walked out of my apartment, over to 37th Street, then south. Hit Georgetown, they were prepping for some alumni thing, so I beat feet east into Dupont. I was going to catch a bus to Target, but I decided to walk up 18th St. instead. When I got home, I mapped out my route and realized I’d walked over eight miles, which was BY FAR the longest walk I’d done. I mean, maybe not EVER, but certainly since I’ve been in DC.

And then the following week I walked out of my apartment with no real clear plan of what to do on my walk, except that I wanted to see the Library of Congress. I’ve seen it before, I’ve been in it before, I just wanted to go see it again. So I walked down to it, and I sat, and I read, and then I got up, and I walked and I walked and I walked — I walked across the Mall, over to Georgetown, then up Wisconsin. 12.2 miles is what Google maps said, and, can I just say — holy shit?

And I love walking. Love it. Love people watching, and city watching, and finding obscure monuments I knew nothing about, things I never would’ve seen if I were in a car, on a bus, or sitting on a train. On days I don’t work my part time job, I’ll get off the train several stations before or after my destination and walk home from those points.

I didn’t even GET to the gym until last week, when it was so unbearably hot out I couldn’t walk out the front door of my building without immediately becoming a sopping damp mess. Even then, I only went for the cardio machines.

If there’s a point I’m trying to make, it’s this: I’m fortunate in that I live in DC and walking is a legitimate alternative to taking the Metro, I can walk and get to my destination! I know that’s not always the case in the Burbs: highways, no sidewalks, etc. Basically, I had to find where I could begin exercising that had a moderate impact on my life — and from there, it’s just grown. It’s like in war: you just need a beach head, and then will and determination will sustain and expand it.

Droppage?

Anyway, so this past weekend was the 4th of July holiday weekend. A lot of people think fireworks when they think about the Fourth, but I think hot dogs. So I indulged in hot dogs. Like, a lot. Like, probably more than I should’ve. At Friday night’s Nationals game, and for pretty much every meal for the whole weekend (except for breakfast, which I skip). Hot dogs. Mayo on the bun, the dog itself slathered with ketchup and mustard.

Yeah, mayo, on the bun. You heard me. And I spell it ketchup, like it should be, not catsup, which sounds like something a cat would, y’know, regurgitate. Or possibly eat. Or, honestly, both.

Anyway, so: hot dogs. Also? Ice cream. Why ice cream? Because July is National Ice Cream Month (thanks Ronnie!). I may have eaten most of a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It was soooo good.

Oh, also? Beer. I mean, not lots of it, but more than I usually drink.

I can hear you now: “Wow, you must’ve gained all that weight back!”

Fortunately, no, I did not. Although the heat and the Code Red days kept me from my planned three days of walks (I did take a six mile walk on Saturday), I spent copious amounts of time in the gym (I KNOW!), powering through fat burner and alpine ride settings on the stationary bike, and ten minutes here or there on the elliptical machine. I far prefer the exercise bike because I can actually take a book and make progress into it, however. That said, I spent an hour and a half in the gym yesterday (an hour in the AM, then 30 minutes in the PM) and worked up quite a healthy sweat.

By which I mean my legs informed me they were pretty sure they weren’t going to be able to carry the rest of me all the way back to my apartment, so I might want to make alternate transportation arrangements.

In any case, if I hadn’t been munching on hot dogs and slurping down ice cream and beer all weekend, I might even have managed to smash through to the 220s, but since I didn’t, and I was, my weight loss today is actually a report of weight gained.

“Oh, gosh! Tell me you’re joking: you spent all weekend eating hot dogs, licking ice cream, and drinking beer, and you gained weight? I am so shocked! No, no, I’m not, that was sarcasm.”

Last week I weighed 235.5. This morning, the scale reported me at 236.5.

Yeah, that’s right: I gained back a pound. But I got to spend all weekend eating hot dogs, licking ice cream, and drinking beer.

Totally worthy trade-off.

And, if you missed my announcement over the weekend: when I hit my weight loss goal (which is to drop to 185 pounds), I’m going to get a tattoo.