I didn't mean to take that long a walk. I'd just finished watching a netflix DVD that I'd started a couple of days ago: episodes 4-6 of the 2005 Doctor Who series, which I'm honestly far more enthusiastic about than I ever was about classic Doctor Who, even Tom Baker. My foot hasn't bothered me for a couple of weeks, but I've had so many false starts with thinking "ok, this time the treatment worked" that I'd been reluctant to actually try walking. But there I was, thinking 'the sooner I mail this one back, the sooner I'll get the next
three episodes ... and I have to try walking more than fifty feet sooner or later ... and the mailbox is what, 150 yards, 200 at most...." Which it might have been if I hadn't been spacing a bit, enjoying the crisp night air (-4 C) and walking an unfamiliar route with way more side streets than the way I go when I'm driving, one of which I accidentally headed up.
When I started this I was still on the endorphin rush; it's passing but I'm still feeling as good as I've felt in ages. Here's hoping this is real, and I don't wake up in pain.