I have a deathly fear of sidewalk ice. The combination of me being nearly six feet tall and completely without grace has been an unfortunate one with embarrassing and painful winter results. But the arrival of the much celebrated treadmill has posed an interesting question: Do I ever need to walk outside again? I say, except for the panicked run to and from the car, no. I'll be that woman, bolting from the passenger's side, one hand against the sun, the other casting rock salt before her like a charm.
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