New shoes and cold water blues

I had to take it easy for a few days because I overdid it pruning hydrangeas. It’s more than a little annoying when a simple garden activity knocks you down, but I suppose I’d better get used to it.

The body is both delicate and resilient and only more of the former as we age. We don’t bend and bounce like we used to. I am reminded of my favorite golf role model, Gail, who plays in our club. She’s 83, I think, and walks 18 holes. I played with her yesterday, and she said, “I’ll just keep doing it until I can’t.”

supportive walking shoes

My golf shoes are starting to attract attention. I avoid riding in a cart if at all possible. For me, all that walking requires a cushioned and supportive shoe. Most golf shoes do not meet my criteria. For all the shoes I wear, including golf, that means a thick, non-flexible sole. My back and knee problems are greatly minimized by sticking to these standards.

It seems like every time I play, someone says, “Are you wearing Hokas?” Most people don’t deviate from standard golf shoe brands. I used to wear Ecco golf shoes, and they were among the best, but I wanted something even more supportive.

While some say these shoes look too pillowy for golf, I like the Hoka One One brand. I’ve experimented with different styles over the years for regular walking shoes and this summer tried the Speedgoat 3 for golf. Some reviewers complained the shoe is too narrow. I do not have a particularly narrow foot, but this style fits me like a glove.

The Speedgoat is a trail running shoe, so the soles have traction and look very much like a golf shoe on the bottom. I might be wrong, but it seems the traction also helps with overall stability and might help prevent a fall.

Now I wear the Speedgoats for everything. I keep two pairs of the waterproof version in the car for golf and just got a brand-new pair (non-waterproof) for regular walks. If you’re not religious about cleaning them up after a game, grass from the golf course sticks in the treads and can leave a mess on the floor. Just throwing a little money at it to reduce housework.

swimming in cooler temps

I’m probably going to swim today. My club has two outdoor pools. One is heated year-round to 78 degrees, and the other one is heated year-round to 85. The colder pool has lane makers and is reserved for adult lap swimmers. The warmer pool is for families and water aerobics. In the family pool, there are lanes painted on the bottom but no dividers. If there’s an empty lane, lap swimming is OK.

So far, I’ve been using the somewhat chilly lap pool, but it’s about to get testy.

The thing is … I’m a notorious wimp about the cold. Even when it was warmer outside, I got a chill following my swim. As I see it, I’m going to have to duke it out with the kids in the warmer pool or man up and deal with the colder water. If I can stick with this through the winter, I will consider it one of my life’s greatest achievements.

I bought a thermal swim shirt, which I am hoping will make my core feel a little warmer. A wetsuit seemed like overkill.  The fit isn’t perfect, but I’m keeping it. As a flat and fabulous breast cancer survivor, there seems to be a spot for breasts I am unable to fill. I wonder if those gaps translate to less warming action, but I think it’s better than nothing.

Reading

After re-reading The Handmaid’s Tale, I requested the sequel at the library, The Testaments, and it came in yesterday! I was so excited, and when I got to the library, I saw there was also a copy on the “hot picks” rack. These are a selection of new books in high demand. I felt a little cheated after thinking I’d scored when it turns out any old person could check it out.

I started the book last night, and I’ve had a hard time getting into it. I’ll give it another whirl today.

Dale is re-reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and he almost has me ready to try them again. I loved the movies but have always had a hard time with the books. Dale said to skip the preamble about the history of hobbits, as well as all the little songs and such scattered throughout.

The Staff of life

We’ve kind of overdosed on bread this week. Dale has no internal bread meter to tell him when enough is enough. I accused him of eating too much bread once, and he said in a voice filled with shock and disgust, “Bread is the staff of life.”

I don’t rule out anything food-wise, but I do have an internal meter that tells me to move on to something else, say vegetables. Still, I made baguettes, and we ate them for dinner with cold cuts, a ripe brie and good olive oil. There was one baguette left, so Dale thought it would be good with bacon for breakfast the next morning. And it was.

Then, when you’d think we’d had enough, Dale made a mixed-grain bread, and we had that with Greek salads the way we ate them in Crete … just a mix of coarsely chopped tomatoes, onions and cucumbers garnished with a hunk of Feta and Kalamata olives. Olive oil and red wine vinegar over the top, with plenty for bread-dunking.

THEN, because we had bread, Dale made grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner last night. He makes a killer grilled cheese. At least we had marinated cucumbers on the side.

I’m in charge of dinner today, and as God is my witness, there will be dark green leafy vegetables.