MountainMornings

There is a silly tee shirt here that says something like, “Shopping is my Cardio.” Ah, if only that were true. The problem with a French island is that the concept of gym workouts is foreign. Even when the Bride spent her Junior semester in Paris, the gym was a strange American place. Yoga, yes, maybe even Pilates has made it this far, but not cross-training or body pumping.

We climb the hills, and we walk on the beach; that is the sum of our exercise so far. Although yesterday we were walking on Petit Cul de Sac and thought for a minute we saw a dead body. Being superstitious only made it worse, I wanted to turn away and walk back to our car. I remembered the last time we found a dead body on this island. A Canadian man had fallen out of his dinghy one night, his blue foot was sticking out from under a sheet on the dock. It was a major CSI moment.

We had to walk off a wonderful moules frites when the gendarmes thought to redirect us around the dead man. At the very last minute…

Then I thought maybe it’s only a hat bobbing in the waves. Probably that’s all. But then we looked, it was a dead goat! Poor thing, it probably lost its footing on a cliff.

I broke into a trot. We had happier times ahead. We had to do a 6 month birthday photo shoot of the Love Bug and take her out for crepe caramel and ice cream. And maybe do some cardio.