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Exercise. I have always been an advocate. Wherever I go, I will always find a way to keep active. It helps me sleep better, keeps my hormonal churlishness in check, and keeps me looking trim and fit. That is — if I do enough exercise to compensate for my diet.

Well here in Prague that is proving to be a bit of a challenge with all of the eating we have been doing. It is not just the representational functions that we are attending with all of the rich food and drink, but our own grand mal nutritional transgressions. I am generally a healthy eater — priding myself on more Mediterranean fare, yet finding myself in a city tempted by delicious bread and pastries on every corner. Much to my chagrin, Steve is in high-carb heaven and stockpiles our kitchen at every opportunity. To add insult to injury, I was met this morning in my kitchen by Eva, the housekeeper, who baked some home made strudel for me. I guess she didn’t want to be outdone by her mother who bake us what can only be described as fried Czech Beignets filled with apple filling and powdered sugar. Holy smokes. I am going to wind up with a “tlustou prdel”, which coincidentally (or not) rhymes with “strudel” — translating to “fat ass” In Czech. Not wanting to be rude, of course, I fired up the Nespresso machine and made myself a macchiato to go with this delicious treat.homemade strudel-2Mind you, I have yet to be idle here. Diplo-dog and I walk Steve to the Embassy almost every morning and again to meet up with him at the end of the day. Not having a car here means more pounding the cobblestone streets and many, many uphill climbs in between. Not to mention weekend day-tripping on foot. Unfortunately, this is not proving to be enough as my ever-so-tightening jeans would suggest. What I have been missing are the aerobic machines I was doing in Baltimore and the daily long swims in Tampa. Time to improvise in this lovely, medieval city. So, I came down (and up) with a solution….IMG_1243

Run up and down a 400 year old staircase tucked away a block from our apartment.
IMG_1242There are 89 steps. I counted, and having completed 15 exhausted trips which was the goal I set, I am proud to say that I might have atoned for my dietary sins 2670 steps later.

It was difficult, and not just because my thighs were screaming at me. There was a contrast of odors, wafting through the air of this narrow space. There was some sort of sewage smell making its way up one of the grates. That is and of itself was enough to keep me moving, but then there also was a most delicious food odor sneaking out of the door of the “Host” restaurant that is wedged halfway down the staircase. I am not sure what they were cooking, but I think Lososové tournedos plněné kozím sýrem a listovým špenátem, bramborové pyré with a little Domácí jablečný závin s vlašskými ořechya vanilkovou zmrzlinou for dessert (for comparison sake mind you) is in my future!

What the hell. More food. More stairs. More pain, but hopefully with only the gain of another great meal and more reasons to keep moving through this beautiful city.