A Walker in the Suburbs

What to call a walk that becomes longer than you originally thought it would be? It seems like there should be a name for a stroll that becomes a hike, for an outing that takes on an extension, an add-on, a bonus.

The other day I hit the Glade Trail mid-afternoon, imagining it would be a simple out-and-back. But the air was pellucid and smelled of crushed leaves. The old body wasn’t as creaky as usual. I had nothing I had to do when I returned. So when I reached Twin Branches I knew I had to keep going, had to see the light sparkling on Lake Audubon.

Just an eighth turn around the lake, I told myself. But that was not enough. I kept going until I reached the big green dam and the steps up to the shady part of the trail I love best. After that, I knew I could sidle up to a neighborhood where I amble past houses and pretend I live in them. Couldn’t resist that.

By that point I was invested enough that I had to do the entire hour-and-a-half loop. It was more than I bargained for, but it was just right.

Yesterday’s walk took me through the woods to another street in the neighborhood, one I seldom visit. It held novelty and a sense of escape. It also held something I haven’t seen in a while: mud.

Though we’ve had rain through the warm months, we’ve been in drought conditions until recently. The water table has been low and the soil parched. Drops that fell were quickly absorbed. But now there’s a bit of water flowing through the creek and soggy patches on the trail.

I thought about wearing hiking boots, but since my walk was only partially in the woods, I decided against them. My tennis shoes would have to do. And they did. But not without detours. And tiptoeing. And searching for the high, dry ground.

A muddy trail is good for the earth, but it makes walking more complicated.

(A muddy trail in Bangladesh.)

I first heard the phrase “motion is lotion” from a physical therapist. I took to it right away. Movement matters. It can heal body, mind and spirit. The more you move, the more easily you move. I believe this. Most walkers do.

The expression pops into mind especially after a new exercise routine or enthusiastic weeding session leaves me stiff and sore. That was the case this morning, as I hobbled out of bed into my running tights and t-shirt to do the neighborhood loop with an ever-loosening gait.

My eyes have healed and I’ve no more excuses to skip the grunt work of exercising: the planks and poses that pit body weight against gravity. I went up against the weeds over the weekend, too. They have run rampant lately.

All of which means I needed the lotion that comes from motion. Come to think of it, I should get up and move a little more right now.

(Walkers in York, England, get some lotion from their motion.)

It was the most positive health story I’ve read in a long time, discussing a study in the July issue of Neurology which found that people who walk faster than their peers are less likely to experience cognitive decline.

Maybe this makes up for all the crossword puzzles I don’t work, all the chess I don’t play, and all the supplements I don’t take.

The study looked at 5,000 older people and builds on earlier research that studied folks in their 80s who walk at the speed of 50-year-olds. In short,”super movers” age more slowly. They’re healthier and more long-lived.

The article doesn’t discuss the sore muscles and creaky knees that can accompany a faster gait. Are these aches and pains a small price to pay? It depends on how bad one is hurting, I suppose.

But I know where I fall on the issue. I’ll keep walking as fast as I can, for as long as I can.

When I found myself with dilated eyes and time to kill before driving home, I did what all curious walkers do: explored the area. In this case, the area included one of the largest malls in the U.S. There was just one hitch: reaching the place on foot.

The Tysons Corner area is not pedestrian friendly. It may become more so in time — or at least that’s the hope. The Washington Metropolitan Transportation Authority (WMATA) put four stations in the Tysons area when it was routing the Silver Line in a bid to make the neighborhood more walkable. But it will take more than that, I’m afraid.

It will take more weirdos like me, people willing to stroll across 10 lanes of traffic on a broiling-hot afternoon. At least there was a crosswalk.

(This is not a pretty picture, but that’s the point.)

I’m just back from a Reston trails walk. It was good to have a change of scene after days of hoofing it through the neighborhood.

Not that I have anything against my neighborhood. It’s bucolic, as suburban subdivisions go, but it’s limited. I march up and down one major thoroughfare.

When I walk the Reston trails I meander along the Glade Creek, or circle Lake Newport. I cross bridges, trudge up hills and down. I explore any side trails that look appealing. A walk becomes an adventure.

Or least that’s the way it seems at the time. Maybe it’s just the walkers high.

Yesterday’s walk was business as usual, the neighborhood loop in humidity so thick it felt like I was striding through pea soup. I consoled myself with memories of Deep Creek walks.

Though we were only there seven days I found a lovely route: a stretch of road with tall trees that met up high, cathedral-like, befitting the book I was reading, Sarum, about Salisbury, England, and its cathedral.

The light that reached walkers was dappled and fine, with puddles of sunshine and brief bright stretches. Each stroll lifted me up, spun me out of daily duties into higher realms. Which is, after all, what you want a walk to do.

We stopped for a hike on the way home from the lake, strode through tall grass and old forest, sat on a bench and watched the eddies in Tolliver Creek.

At one point we heard a bird that sounded familiar, that sounded as if it was talking to us right from the heart of the woods. The Merlin app told us it was a hermit thrush, a relative of the wood thrush I heard last month.

It was a gem of a walk, with paths through meadow, park and woods. At the end we watched as butterflies fed on milkweed. It’s all the rage to plant milkweed now — we have some in our yard — but this was one of the first times I’ve watched animals taking advantage of it.

Milkweed is not an unattractive plant, but it’s not my favorite, either. Seeing it as food made me appreciate it more. Hikes can be food, too, sustenance for the spirit. This one was for me.

I felt as if I was feeding on the forest. After the clamor and clang of a busy week with the family, it was a quiet moment, time to absorb all the week had to offer.

It happened on an ordinary walk, and it happened twice, since this ordinary walk was on a circular trail, where you run into people more than once if you’re strolling in opposite directions.

I’m glad it happened twice, though, because the first time I didn’t believe my eyes. By the second time, I was sure. A fellow walker, a man about my age, smiled and tipped his hat as we passed.

I’ve written before about how walkers acknowledge each other. I don’t expect much, am happy if I get a nod or wave. I never expected a tip of the hat. Such behavior harkens back to an earlier age, when gentlemen wore fedoras and opened doors for ladies.

Did the hat-tipper similarly acknowledge male walkers? I have no answer to that question. But I do know how nice it felt to be the recipient of a such a courtesy. It was a congenial gesture; it made me smile all the way back to the parking lot.

(President Calvin Coolidge tips his hat. Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

In music, the phrase “a tempo” means to return to the original pace. In the last few weeks (touch wood) I have been returning to my original walking speed.

I had slowed down through the winter and spring due to a hamstring thing. I won’t dignify it by calling it an injury but I will say that it turned my allegro into an adagio.

But now, if I’m careful, my stride is little more my own. The trick is knowing when I’ve overdone and backing off. I’m not as good at that as I hope to become.

It’s a good lesson not just in walking, but in life.

(Sometimes the sand slows me down.)