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Category: walking

Auto Pilot

Auto Pilot

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It’s below freezing here with a sky that means business (snow business). Birds flit from feeder to roost, keeping warm, I imagine. That’s what I’d do if I were a bird.

Instead, I sit in a warm room observing my feathered friends, trying to work up the enthusiasm for a morning walk. Will the temperature rise past 32? That might trigger some movement on my part. Otherwise, I may have to sit a while longer, have another cup of tea.
Absent from the blogosphere for two days, I notice that the entry I thought I’d posted on Christmas Eve never published. Because I scheduled it for December 24, though, its time stamp makes it appear as if I published it on that day.
It’s a vote against auto-pilot … but a vote in favor of time travel. About which more will be said … in the future. 
Mind Walking

Mind Walking

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For the last two days, my walks have consisted only of trips from the house to the car, the car to the Metro platform, the Metro platform to the bus stop, the bus stop to the office, the office to the bus stop, the bus stop to the Metro platform, and, well … you get the picture.

It’s a picture of a walk-starved person, someone who draws strength from movement but who isn’t moving much these days. 
This will be remedied soon. In the meantime, I’m letting my mind do the walking. It’s taking me down a white sand beach in Florida, along a slick brick sidewalk in Bangladesh and through a canopy of trees in a woods near my house.
Ahhhh …. I’m feeling better already. 
Alone and Together

Alone and Together

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Yesterday’s walk took us to Long Bridge park, where we could see the Washington Monument, planes taking off and landing, a red helicopter whirring toward the river, and a freight train lumbering along the tracks. We paused for a group shot, our fine and motley crew, then strolled back chattering about our work, our lives, our plans for the future.

A far different stroll happened last night. I left the H Street Country Club a few minutes before 8 and walked the 10 blocks to Union Station by myself. The H Street corridor has the grittiness of the newly gentrified neighborhood. Start-up boutiques, dark side streets, coffee shops with attitude, and panhandlers aplenty. It also has … a streetcar, though I didn’t see one heading west until I was almost at Union Station.

It was past 8:30 when I caught the first of two Metros, close to 10 when I got home. The walk made the day a little longer, but I’m so glad I took it. I needed to process Day One and prepare for Day Two. Walking: it’s good together … but it’s better alone.

Houston Delivers

Houston Delivers

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To riff for a moment on a city defined by a sentence amplified by a movie— “Houston, we have a problem” — let me just say Houston had far fewer problems than I expected to see.

While there was evidence of Hurricane Harvey — a boarded-up motel and piles of refuse in neighborhoods (the latter viewed by other wedding-goers, not me) — the city, on the whole, glittered and gleamed.

From the Johnson Space Center to the funky soul food breakfast joint my sister-in-law found to a host of museums on everything from medicine to bicycles — Houston delivered.

The best part was walking through the parks, past fountains and waving pink grasses and through the studied stillness of the Japanese garden. Dogs and families, girls in ballgowns for their quinceaneras, even a tightrope-walker — everyone out to savor the cool breeze and sparkling low-humidity day.

Walking and Living

Walking and Living

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As if yesterday’s post wasn’t enough of a paean to walking … here’s this, which I noticed in a day-old copy of the newspaper: “Regular walking may increase longevity, even if you walk less than the recommended amount.”

I hope I walk more than the recommended amount — but even if I didn’t these words would be heartening. The new study analyzed information from nearly 140,000 adults ages 60 and up, people who were followed for 13 years. Even those who didn’t walk the recommended two and a half hours a week still lived longer than the ones who didn’t walk at all.

Apparently, though many studies look at exercise and longevity, not that many specifically examine walking. So although this seems like a no-brainer … it isn’t. And there’s more: Those who walk from two and a half to five hours a week were 20 percent less likely to die of any cause and 30 percent less likely to die of a respiratory ailment. Which raises a question: Could those who walk 10 or more hours a week become … immortal?

I’m getting a bit carried away here, but one thing is certain. Walking doesn’t just clear the mind and inspire the spirit … it actually keeps us going longer. I can live with that!

Pep Walk

Pep Walk

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I love the pep talk, whether getting or giving. Those first minutes and hours afterward, lifted on a thin layer of inspiration that I know won’t last but feels permanent at the time, a high born of words and gestures, of understandings suddenly grasped.

But when there’s no one around for a pep talk, a pep walk will do.

A pep walk begins in desolation. The article you’re writing has no focus, the words are cliches. The work load is too heavy, no one can juggle this many projects. The child you raised is having troubles; she’s an adult now but when she hurts, you do too.

The reasons are legion, but the remedy is the same. Lace up the shoes, grab the earbuds, step outside. It’s a whole new world out there. Other people and their problems. Maybe the problems get all jumbled together and cancel each other out. Or maybe it’s just the act of walking, one foot then the other. Forward motion, with all that that implies.

All I know is, the pep walk works. It bolsters spirits, reveals solutions. It inspires.

Chasing Daylight

Chasing Daylight

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Yesterday evening I arrived home at my usual time, but it was almost dark. Some clouds had moved in and mist was making it worse, but these were footnotes to the main event, which is that we have far less brightness to go around these days.  My after-work walks are all about chasing daylight.

To find the time I must plot and scheme. If I leave the office right at 5, I get the 5:10 bus, which puts me in Rosslyn at 5:20, which means I’m on Metro by 5:30 and to Vienna by 6:00, then home by 6:20 or 6:30. That gives me 15-20 minutes before total black-out.

There’s the morning, of course, but that means walking in the darkness and the cold — before the eyes are open and the air is warmed. And then there’s lunchtime, but if I want to leave at 5 I can’t take a lunch.

I can fold walking into my day, get up and move around the office more, walk up and down the stairs, all of which I do. But I miss my long, stretch-my-legs rambles.

Just one thing to do: make the best of weekends and work-at-home days and shuffle around the other constraints as best I can. In a little over two months, the days start getting longer again.

Around the Yard

Around the Yard

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Whenever possible I like to step outside in the middle of the day and walk “around the block” — the block being an unconventional one that includes the service road behind conjoined office buildings, one of which I work in.

This gives me a chance to stretch my legs and clear my head.  If a story I’m working on has been giving me trouble, the walk will often show me the lead, transition or conclusion I need to wrap things up.

But lately, I don’t even have time for a walk around the block. So I’ve begun what I call (in my mind) a walk around the yard. Just as there is no block here, neither is there a yard. But there is a plaza in front of the building, picnic tables, seats, an arbor.  On warm days people play ping-pong or take a zumba class (only the brave souls who don’t mind an audience).

Even a five-minute stroll can loosen the old gray matter — and often does.

Sky Bridge

Sky Bridge

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A late walk last night, strolling through sunset into nightfall. Crickets were chirping, bats were swooping and down at the corner the second-bloom honeysuckle was wafting its delicious scent over the distinctive odor of the manure fertilizer some homeowner had just spread.

We aren’t used to barnyard scents here in the suburbs. A few miles down the road is a little farm park where I used to take the children when they were young. There are plenty of pungent odors there.
But here it’s a sanitized suburban aroma.

But I was soon past it and on my way back. The day was darkening, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the sky. Maybe because it was the lightest thing to look at — or maybe because I was listening to Chabrier on my iPod and thinking about Dad playing the same music decades ago.

What a link music becomes, a bridge between the living and the dead.

Skips in our Step

Skips in our Step

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There are so many ways to walk in this world. There’s trudging and strolling, ambling and sauntering, sliding and gliding, tromping and tramping, wandering and rambling, marching and striding, creeping and traipsing, hiking and slogging.

And then … there’s skipping.

When was the last time I skipped? Actually, it was today. But only for a second when no one was looking — and only because I already had the idea of writing this post.

The skip is the canter of human gaits, the waltz step for walkers. It’s a catch in the breath and in the stride. It’s a joyful, uninhibited motion, akin to running — but less work.

Unfortunately, however, it’s seldom practiced after the age of 10.

The taste of it I had this morning reminded me of its power and its fun. It is the most gladsome of movements. And in fact, if we practiced it more often it would be difficult to take ourselves seriously. For that reason alone, maybe it’s time we all put more skips in our step.