September now. Still hot, but the calendar says it shouldn’t be, so you go outside anyway as if the date on your phone changes the dew point.

Half a mile. Seventeen minutes. The pace of someone who is walking because they told themselves they would, not because they want to. Heart rate around 109, which is the metabolic equivalent of being alive and upright.

These short walks — I know what they look like. They look like nothing. But nothing is what happens when you don’t go outside at all, and this wasn’t nothing. This was shoes on, door open, feet moving.

That’s the whole report.

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// RAPTOR GIRL