It behooves me to walk on Wednesdays, because it is also the morning I get to sing with the preschool. 

It turns out, the serendipity helps. Having the breath to power through forty five minutes of joyful music is not as easy as it was in my twenties. Which is ironic, since I have more to be grateful for. But bodies being what they are, my larynx has opinions about high notes, and volume, that didn't slow me down in high school. My memory, which I freely admit is slipping, tells me that my friends and I could play full steam for hours. Longer, if a boy had jilted us. 

The effect of having recently asked my body to pump harder for an hour impacts my strength later in the day. Often when I am looking into the eyes of these darling children, the ones whose bodies are fresh from the oven and never slow them down, I am thankful for having walked. 

It seems that exertion at seven am boosts my capacity at ten. Maybe this is the lesson of life. Muscling through those miles of spiritual hills now will give me the freedom to sing my heart out in twenty years, when this body is done. Not because it is a reward for suffering, but simply because it increases my capacity for love.