. . .and everywhere else. It was block two when I realized which part of my body was in-sufficiently protected from the biting winds (oh yes, biting) and sub-zero temperatures. Have your thighs ever been so cold that it felt like they were being pricked with one million needles only to then begin to like they were being set ablaze?
Daughter gave me a lift to the train, after the short train ride to the work 'hood, I had a walk. On normal days, it is a leisurely, 6 or 7 block jaunt that I've made often. I usually add intensity by stretching out the stride, amping up the speed.
This morning, I sped up (as much as I could, what with the snowy, slippery sidewalks) because to slow surely meant to be frozen in place. Keep On Movin' looped over and over in my head, keeping my feet in timed motion.
My first action upon reaching our building was to take the quaint elevator to our floor and head directly to the women's room. The friction my pants caused rubbing against my thighs made me shriek, just a little. My thighs, ice cold to the touch, had taken on a lovely shade of red. They kinda looked like Boston Baked Beans. The friction made me shriek, the squat made me scream, just a little. However, I took the opportunity to rub my bruised and bewildered thighs ever so gently. Recovery was nearly as rapid as the assault and by the time I'd finished, I was feeling closer to normal.
Still, I'm getting myself geared (and layered) for my afternoon walk and even more so for the commute home. Hey, gotta keep movin'.