My mobility has been hindered lately by various things. It seems as if I’ve been walking like an old woman for the past several months.

First I got a heel spur, confirmed by x-ray, but not much to be done about it. “Stay off the treadmill,” the doctor advised, “Wear good shoes and take naproxen sodium to relieve the inflammation.” I was hobbling, but only after sitting for a time and when I first got out of bed.

Next I kicked the leg of the sofa and broke my pinky toe. That put me in loose shoes and gave me a decided limp for several weeks. Again, there was not much to be done except endure the pain and wait for healing.

Last Fall I rode a horse on a beach in Mexico. I was amazed what a challenge it was after a 30 year hiatus. I like to have never mounted the beast from the downhill side of a sandy slope and could not have done it without the non-English-speaking fellow’s help. After a couple of minutes in the saddle, I realized the right stirrup was twisted but I could not get off to investigate it because I had no help to get back on. So I rode/sat with my ankle in a bind for over an hour. A strained tendon gave me another limp for another few weeks.

Not long ago, I realized I was walking without pain for the first time in nearly a year. It made me feel so good that I ran across the Wal-Mart parking lot, pushing a cart full of groceries.

The thought hit me again a few days ago: I’m not hurting! So I sped up to a faster walk. It wasn’t a power walk but I was moving along at a pretty good clip and simply feeling wonderful.

Then I walked past a row of shop windows and caught my reflection. What on earth? It wasn’t even close to a power walk, nor was I speeding along. It was just a walk: a normal walk like everyday people walk every day.

It feels like I’m moving along at a pretty good clip.

My realization was such a letdown that I came home and complained to my husband about it. We laughed about my delusion and spent half an hour investigating the etymology of the phrase “moving along at a pretty good clip.”

It occurred to me that the older we get, the faster time flies and maybe that applies to the way we walk also.

When I met my husband, his dark beard was salt and pepper. Now it’s about ninety percent salt and not what one would call a dark beard. How did that happen in six short years? I look at our pictures and realize how much we’ve both aged. Why, a few years ago we were young!

I suppose even though I don’t walk very fast any more, I really am moving along at a pretty good clip.