I am going to prove here today that exercise doesn’t burn calories, at least not enough to make any difference for me.
I’ve always felt like there is an alternate rule in some universe far, far away that my body lives by as far as burning calories. Now I know there is.
I get it honestly. Pictures of my female ancestors can easily be mistaken for a formidable offensive line of any football team.
Well, I exercised plenty in Portugal as I sight-saw. (“Side-seed” is not a word, right?)
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I mentioned in last week’s column that my son’s Fitbit measured he had walked 20,000 steps and up 79 flights of stairs at the end of a day of visiting two castles. I walked most of that behind him, except for the highest part that had no railing.
I do not think the land of Portugal has a department of public safety. So many high round-the-castle walks and so few railings.
So my fear of heights saved me some steps and gave my burning leg muscles a rest.
I am not the only one in my family who left Portugal with the conception firmly implanted in our minds that the country is all uphill. I don’t recall ever going downhill.
I looked from one castle to another as my daughter said, “We’re walking to that one next.”
“But it’s a long way away and across a valley,” I said, struggling for breath. “And I’m sure the path down to the