Friday the 13th. Six-tenths of a mile. Nineteen minutes. Heart rate averaged 107 but hit 134 at one point — a brief spike that says either there was a slope or something startled you into moving faster for thirty seconds.

September is doing that thing where it pretends to be fall everywhere else in America but Pensacola didn’t get the memo. Still hot. Still humid. Still walking anyway.

Four walks this week. None of them long. All of them real.

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// RAPTOR GIRL