MY APOLOGIES MR. BRYSON

I decided to get some new trail hiking shoes, as I've decided to hit some of the 3 and 5 mile trails in Jefferson memorial forest nearby.
Hiking, you see, is something that completely changes the nature of exercise. It's walking in large circles, but in the shaded forest that change somehow on every circuit. It's outdoors, but close enough to home to sleep in your own bed. It's using up calories, but not on the guess-who's-fat tour of city sidewalks, in full view of the neighbors. Instead you are a hiker.
Hikers by nature come in all forms and sizes, and no one pokes any fun at any other because the woods are the great equalizer when it comes to the simple act of perambulation. I, for instance, have a difficulty getting my dwarf legs up trails with steep ledges, but I know that that tall fellow farther back that almost hit his head on a treebranch that I couldn't jump and hope to touch won't be able to get under the tree covering the path, and will eventually be covered in sticker bush scrapes later on circumventing the offending encumbrance and wondering to himself how it is that he finds this activity refreshing.

I'm sorry-I will finish this when I get Bryson out of my head. A mental act that seems at first to be simple enough, but is instead so difficult that I am actually hearing his voice right now, as if he has somehow supplanted my mental voice box and replaced it with his. Moreover, his manner becomes so very rhythmic that I cannot help but fall into the motion that is his style.

Christ, I'm doing it right now.

OUT! OUT, DAMN SPOT!