MOLI VIEW™

I killed a couple of dogs once.

This memory, usually covered by decades of other less difficult events, resurfaced on a long, slow walk to the gym. A definite plus of living in a temperate climate is that December is warm enough that a walk isn't a brutal notion. Some people get crazy with the walking. But most of us don't want to work that hard. We're just trying to escape the holiday season with zero net weight gain.

Now's a great time to implement a walking program, as the meals and festive drinks are inclined to add a few pounds here or there. Walking's impact is low on your body and wallet, but you've still got to have a decent pair of shoes. Skimping on footwear can, believe it or not, make long walks a painful proposition. Let's not kid ourselves though: Shoes are not the issue. What keeps folks from walking is the time it demands. Make space for a long walk and the dividends will pay off in more ways than a scale can count.

I was about to loop around Sony Studios when that dead-dog deal returned. The memory hadn't made its presence felt in a long time. It bubbled up as if coaxed out by a trance. (Yoga aside, walking is the best exercise when it comes to inducing trances.) And I remember that the incident took place on Highway 99, someplace between Fresno and Stockton. My old girlfriend Johanna was riding shotgun in that sky-blue '73 Maverick. (Rednecks down in Visalia, where I was living at the time, would roll up and enthusiastically ask, "Does that have a V-8 under the hood?" And I'd nod my head slow like, Hell yeah!)

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