Nope, this is not about Halloween. Just a confession of sorts.
I traveled up and down the central part of Kansas last weekend on a yarn shop hop. (This isn't the confession part.) In Abilene, I ate lunch at the Kirby House. (Neither is that.)
A rather cheerfully spooky-looking place, huh?
I don't know much about the Kirby House except they make a good chicken salad sandwich and the guests are free to roam about the place on a self-guided tour. You can even climb the extremely steep steps to the third and fourth floors found only in the center tower.
Before the Kirby House, the place where I'd climbed the steepest staircase was in my grandma and grandpa's farmhouse. At least there I didn't have take the stairs like ladder rungs. I didn't know until the day after my little hike to Laputa land, however, that the Kirby House and its table for two on the uppermost floor would provoke my left thigh to threaten a strike. It colluded with my knee and wouldn't let me cross a room without me grabbing something for support.
I thought this was so ridiculous--can't climb a freaking set of stairs without requiring sports rehab afterwards--that I've done something radical. Phenomenal. Considering my loathing of excercise equipment...if not excercise itself.
Yes, it's true. (THIS is the confession.) I'm walking. On a treadmill. My very own.
Or, at least, I will be walking on a treadmill when it gets delivered and installed later in the week. At the fitness equipment shop, I tried to make myself like an elliptical machine instead because it takes up less space, works more muscles, is more efficient, etc., but I couldn't get myself to quit singing "climb every mountain" in my head when I took one of the machines for a test drive. I might've sung it out loud, too, but I was way too out of breath. And I'd been on the machine for a sum total of two minutes. (This was the embarrassing, scary part of the confession.)
So, it's baby steps for me on the treadmill. And perhaps at a 15% incline when I'm feeling reckless.
Funny how a lunch in a creaky old house can change the course of one's life. At least, I hope it will.
More pics of the Kirby House:
A horse hitch by the front picket fence.
Oh? And the results of the yarn shop hop? Here's my official haul:
I especially love the Straw Into Gold pyramid of Crystal Palace Yarns' Merino Stripes I found at the shop in Salina. (Pronounced "Sah-LIE-nah," not "Sah-LEE-nah," in these parts.)
And, no, my yarn haul was not a part of this confession. I'm very proud of it.