I was born with ten toes. I inherited this from my mother, who married a man with ten toes, increasing my chances. Despite my favorable odds, it was some time before I could walk, and some time further before I could walk properly. Ever since then, walking has been the activity I do the most. I often spend hours a day walking. I even do it when I'm at home. I'm not too fearful to do it at events, as well, even if it's not about me at all. I will walk anywhere and everywhere. I've walked in hospitals, in supermarkets, in nursing homes, in pharmacies, in markets, in stores, and even bathrooms. I've walked in birthday parties (mine and others'), in banquets, and in funerals. One could say that walking is my primary form of self-mobilization. I walk when I get out of bed in the morning. And I walk everywhere I go. I'm dedicated to walking. If I have coffee or find myself in a hurry, I may walk at a brisk pace. That gets exhilarating, but can burn up calories. Calories have subsisted me my whole life. As I grew older, I would need more calories to maintain living and ambulating. At a certain point in my collection of living years, that amount plateaued, and I have been able to take and expend calories at an even keel. Calories come from food and other forms of sustenance and can be gleaned for energy. Energy is what powers your body, for the most part. You cannot do much walking if you have little energy. I've been told that every item of food comes with a rough estimate, a number, of calories. Counting calories seems to be instrumental in maintaining a diet that prioritizes utilizing calories in an efficient manner, so that you eat as many calories as is necessary, but do not overindulge. When your body metabolizes food as well as mine did in my youth, this never becomes a big concern. Concern for counting calories has seemed like it should be more sizeable for me in the middle of my life years, however. My stomach is no longer flat, and my cheeks have begun to resemble my cheeks of infancy, though hairier. I have found that the hair on my face is quite the source of vexation. I look at others and see the ones who have adorned their visage with such robust plumage, and I feel dissatisfied with the uneven spread and disheveled fringe. Try as I might to shave or shape or trim to perfection, it will not stay as I leave it. The amount that grows on my neck in relation to my face is disconcerting. The fact that my bald patches will not grow in brings me no comfort.
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