The last mile or two of my walk into the town of Chillicothe was on a sidewalk. (Just before that it was on the narrow edge of a retaining wall.) Chillicothe was the first and third capital of Ohio, and the birthplace of singer Nancy Wilson.
My chance to help at the Pantry last night demonstrates how an unexpected event can wind up leading to a peak experience.
When I saw Merri this morning, she asked, “How did you sleep?” I responded, “About as well as I ever sleep.” This “quality of sleep” business is not something I truly understand. Any recommendation I hear or read that one should “get more sleep” is, to me, laughable. What, you don’t think I’d like to sleep more? That’s not always the way it works. Basically, I feel that if I can function the next day, I must have gotten enough sleep. But that’s just me.
Some may recall that I am reading through the Talmud, a 7.3 year project called Daf Yomi. My study cycle ends in early January 2020. Unless you’re well-versed in such things, I can tell you that the Talmud is not what you think it is. That said, reading the Talmud and my coast-to-coast walk have much in common: I often have to remind myself why I’ve taken on these challenges; each takes a long time to complete; and I’m looking forward to finishing both journeys.
I have no idea where I’ll be the next few nights, and I’m still getting used to my backpack. Also, it’s no surprise I’m again dealing with blisters.
13 miles today.
@ Chillicothe, Ohio