Miami Airport appears huge to me. No matter where I park in proximity to my terminal it seems to take forever to get to the check-in counter. Not well organized, one then must trundle to the TSA line before going down a concourse that feels endless.
Seriously. It took Dorothy less skipping down the yellow brick road to arrive at Oz. Being extremely overweight and completely out of shape made navigating this airport a painful struggle. It equated to a death march or Moses leading the chosen people out of Egypt in my mind as I sweated, huffed and puffed my way to the gate.
Today, I’m bopping down the long, long concourse with a downright spring in my step. Distance? Bring it on and let the steps add up on my FitBit. No pain. No gasping for air. No problem.
Booyah!
Weighty Matters 