I’m a walker. There is nothing I like better than on a gorgeous day to get out, stretch my legs and clear my mind. I can multitask and listen to a book on my iPhone or listen to music.
I defy anyone to stay grumpy or to drag your feet when listening to the likes of Donna Summer’s She Works Hard for the Money, or Glenn Frey’s The Heat is On, anything by the Beach Boys, Michael Jackson, Gloria Estefan, Herb Albert, A Taste of Honey, Mason Williams, Classical Gas Guitar…. my play list (though to some is dated) moves fast.
Notice I qualify “gorgeous day” because in Las Cruces it can get windy as my friend to the right will tell you. 
And one thing I’ve dreaded but have come to accept is that I live in pretty hilly terrain. Where I used to trudge up these inclines lamenting how much I hated them, I’ve come to appreciate my friend’s standard reply when she said, “Hills are our friends.”
Think about it. Hills work our legs and our behinds, they activate cardio, and increase oxygen to our brains.
But another thing, if I put this metaphorically, which as a writer I’m prone to do, hills represent challenges. If I’m stuck on a scene, or worried about a family member, or the myriad problems we face in today’s world, hills exist to make us face challenges.
In today’s world we certainly have plenty of those, but so did the generations before us. And the beauty of tackling the hills or mountains we face is that we tend to feel better when we peak and encounter the other side.
Yep, I was loathe to admit it at first, but hills our our friends. They bring out the best in us.
