The title of today’s column could just as easily have been, “Muddy Marches in March” or “Weekday Hike, Sunday Walk” or “Chewing Gum, Thinking and Walking at the Same Time — Too Much?”

It’s the time of year that some of us are thinking that we may have wintered over just a little bit too well. Weight is up. Stamina is down.

There really hasn’t been all that much exercise from snow shoveling for me this year in Sanpete. I’ve only thought about having a heart attack once or twice while out on snow duty.

I really shouldn’t joke about that. My brother did have a cardiac scare a few weeks ago. It turned out to be an episode likely due to overexertion in the snow removal category of winter life in Idaho.

For me, this winter, there’s been very little exercise from regular yard work. There’s only going to be so many times that I’m going to get up out of my recliner to go shoo the deer out of the yard. After a few dozen times, I just stop caring.

At some point, a guy (me), just gives up and says, “Go ahead Bambi, and you, Great Prince of the Forest, and… and…the rest of your clan — have at it, eat whatever you can find and feel free to poop on the lawn.

(For your information, I searched for Bambi’s mom’s name. Disney never revealed Mother deer’s name, though Faline became Bambi’s girlfriend and eventual mate, apparently.)

(And my curiosity also sent me another direction in research which confirmed what I already knew. Deer do not mate for life, unlike geese, bald eagles, beavers, penguins, and a bunch of other animals.)

Anyway, the point I’m gradually getting to here is that I haven’t been getting much exercise through the winter. The time has come to start thinking of shaping up a little and seeing what rejuvenation is possible for this aging carcass of a body which I’m inhabiting.

So that brings me to the reality that it’s time for increasing the number of walks I’m taking, now that we’re past the middle of March.

I admit, as I think I’ve mentioned here before, that walking in Walmart is good. I like those walks.

But that does become an expensive walking routine, what with all the items finding their way off the shelves and into my cart (my Walmart walker). And, walking for five minutes, chatting with a friend for a half hour, then walking for 2 minutes, chatting with a friend for twenty minutes, etc. etc. sometimes becomes a questionable way of getting exercise.

So therefore, verily, verily, henceforth, and certainly not forever, my wife and I have been doing some real outdoor walking lately (in between storms). That includes the past two Sundays.

Two Sundays ago we got into the foothills a little bit and wound up with ten pounds (felt like) of muddy clay on each of our shoes. It made for a more strenuous, challenging hike, and it was annoying — especially the cleaning of the shoes. (Actually, I’ve yet to get around to cleaning my shoes, but it’s annoying thinking about cleaning them.)

This past Sunday afternoon, we were out and at it again. In preparation for going out, I had the thought that I should wear my still dirty shoes from the week before. But, oh no, I decided that I’d be fine with a nice, clean pair of trail shoes.

I was truly fine — until we had traveled 20 feet off the paved road. Diane was leading the way. You may now refer to the title of today’s column. That would be my question, and her response.

To be honest, and in her defense, the look of the ground we were about to trek into, tread over and across, and eventually oozily sink down into, “looked” like “terra firma.” If you’re not familiar with that quite frequently used phrase, it’s Italian for “dry land” as its primary definition.

It was a good hike on Sunday, or rather a good walk. (For me, if it’s ambling around on a Sunday, it’s a walk; on other days, it might possibly be a hike, if you know what I mean.)

But, the good walk had us ending up with another weighty, mud-caked footwear adventure. My heavy feet reminded me of the old New York mafia rumors of enemies being put in “cement overshoes” and tossed into the river. Now I have two pairs of shoes which need cleaning. Ugh!

We were quite philosophical about our slipping and sliding in the Sanpete spring mire. No naughty words were expressed — aloud.

Had one or both of us gone all the way down, all bets for virtuous language may have been off — for a moment. Who knows? Fortunately, we didn’t have to test that question on that day.

All in all, it was a good day for getting nearly a two mile walk into the books of our springtime exercise efforts. The temperature was nice. The weather was good.

And that isn’t how it is everyday this time of year, as you all know. (If you don’t like the weather, stick around.)

Good luck Sanpete, with all your springtime “coming out of hibernation” exercise efforts. We all may as well get into some sort of “battle readiness.” We’ll be firing up the tillers and lawnmowers before you can say, “Merrill’s Mysterious Monumental Muddy Mississippi Marching Band!” — Merrill