taking steps

My office is at one end of the building, and somewhat more than half my work is at the other end of the building (with the loud machines, or the hot machines, or the dusty machines. They're all as close together as is feasible for such big machines.) I walk back and forth a lot, in the course of the day. There are a couple of cheerful women whose open office doors I pass on the way. As so many women do, they talk about weight anxiety. To this audience, I need to specify that they're not talking *about* the anxiety. They take it for granted that everybody (or maybe everybody except a handful of people who have the good fortune to be naturally thin) has to work and fret about losing weight, so sharing the fretfulness is a social connection. I hear a lot of these conversations through the open door of my office, and decide not to join them.

Yesterday, one of them said, "I see you going back and forth all the time. It's really good for you to do so much walking!" Matching the cheerful tone, I explained about the need to go back and forth. I did not say anything about thinking this walk was nothing, or feeling seriously daunted by the 8 miles of walking per day needed for my MBTA commute. (So daunted I usually drive, despite the hand strain.) She went on to say a person should walk quite a lot, ten thousand steps every day, was that enough?

I smiled and said, "Well, I guess that depends where you're going."

"You're walking so much, that means you get to eat more." She sort of sighed wistfully, and I did not know how to respond. I tried to smile sympathetically. I said I needed to go look at the machine. An hour later, I went outside and walked a mile so I could eat a hotdog, but it felt so far from her reality I wondered how we could even talk about it. The place selling the hotdogs is half a mile from work.

suspension

Last week, my car started limping. It lurched when I turned sharply, or turned when backing up. It made disturbing crunching noises when I went too abruptly to the left. My shoulder hurt even more than has become usual, every time I parked. I thought wistfully of all the money I had spent in January to repair the power steering, and made an appointment with the Ford dealer near my new job. (Technically, they're a Mercury dealer, but the service center has all the right parts.) Oil change, state inspection sticker, and "oh, by the way, could you take a look at?"

I took the car in this morning and walked 2 blocks to work. Someone from the service center called me around midmorning with good news. The steering was fine. The suspension was broken--two springs in front had sprung.

"Don't worry, it's covered under Ford's extended warranty."
"I didn't buy the extended warranty plan."
"Ford knows about this problem, so they extended the warranty plan to cover it."
"Do you have the parts in stock to fix it today."
"Oh, of course. It's a very common problem. As soon as you authorize the repair, we can fix it, and you can have it before the end of the day."
"How much will it cost?"
"There's no charge. I said it's covered under the extended warranty plan."

She probably thinks I'm an idiot, but that's much less important than getting the new springs installed for free. At the end of the day, I went to retrieve the car. I just paid for the oil change and the inspection sticker. No more lurches. No more disturbing crunching noises. Unfortunately, my newly sprung car made me much more carsick than before.

I don't like this tradeoff at all. Every time I shop for a car (well, ok. BOTH times I've shopped for a car) the most important factor in my decision has been the quality of the suspension. I don't care about how "responsive" it is, how well it hugs the road, or how fuel-saving it might be. I want a suspension that minimizes my carsickness. I want it back.