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Keep Climbing

Keep Climbing

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What I continue to think of as my new job (though I’ve been here for nine months) has put me in touch with a fine set of stairs, so when I have a few minutes I trudge from the fifth to the 11th floor and back down again.

It amazes me that no matter how often I do this it still winds me. I think sometimes about what’s going on in my body, how the muscles are moving, using oxygen, how my breath comes faster the higher I climb, trying to stoke the furnace, that marvelous furnace that fuels us all.

Yes, mine are old (older!) bones and muscles, but I expect them to keep up. I want at least a couple more decades of walking in the suburbs.

So to forget about the pain, I ponder as I clamber.  How can I make this easier? How can I stay in shape? Only one answer: Keep climbing.

(These are not the stairs I climb, but they are very special stairs.)

Shadow Commuters

Shadow Commuters

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Since Friday, we have been in the deep freeze, with temperatures in the teens or lower. I’m remembering all over again why I no longer live in Chicago. There, the deep freeze was the norm. Here it’s the exception.

Working in Crystal City, though, I have a secret weapon: the Underground. One of its passageways leads from Metro to the building across the street from my office. It’s a little longer as the crow flies, but ever so much warmer.

I notice now a definite uptick in the number of Underground pedestrians, people like me, scampering in the warmth, eschewing the wind and cold.

There we were, dressed for the chill in boots, scarves and gloves — walking down what is essentially a hallway. Are we shadow commuters, or the real thing?

Back to …

Back to …

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I was going to say “the grind.” But my job is too new to be a grind, and the commute is so variable these days that it can be called many things (many of them unprintable) but grind doesn’t quite capture that either.

It’s more accurate today to say back to…  the routine. I’ve not been in the office since December 22, and what a luscious time it’s been: sleeping late, writing long, spending a couple of days away from home and century.

I’m not a big fan of routine, don’t move easily in its placid waters, would rather be done with it. Even though I’ll admit that routine is necessary and sometimes my salvation. But it is more anchor than prod — and today I re-enter it willingly … but not eagerly.

Balancing Act

Balancing Act

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Here at the office, a holiday frenzy: Let’s see how much work we can do before the end of the year.

For me, just the opposite impulse.

It’s almost Solstice. The nights are long and the mornings are cold. Inside, only the tree lights and a little holiday lamp are illuminated. It’s dim and comfy and inviting.

These are days to savor: baking, writing cards, making and wrapping gifts. These are the days leading up to the Great Pause.

I’m trying to let the hurry flow over me. It will get where it’s going — but I won’t be with it.

Bustopia

Bustopia

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Should we coin a word for the way it feels to run to a bus stop only to find no one there and the next bus not due for  30 minutes?  Shall we add in early darkness and a brisk north wind? Shall we also include the uncertainty of whether there even is a next bus?

Lonely doesn’t do it. Bereft … maybe. Some combination of tired and cold and anxious and angry. Bustopia? Like the gloomy imaginings of a dystopian novel only it’s actually happening.

Let’s add a ray of hope, though. The other commuters, when they finally show up, are proof that there will be another bus. They bring gallows humor and crazy stories.

The bus stop is no longer a cold, lonely, windswept place. Now it’s just cold and windswept. Brave New Bustopia.

Crystal City Underground

Crystal City Underground

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I knew they existed but am just beginning to explore them. “They” are a series of enclosed walkways and tunnels that honeycomb the Crystal City neighborhood.

Billed as an underground mall, the Crystal City shops are connected by wide, well-lit sidewalks (halls?!) that lead to a bakery, an optometrist, a theater … and more.

Halloween would be a perfect day to write about subterranean walkways — if only they were creepy, scary, low-ceilinged and cobwebby. They are anything but.

Still, they’re odd enough that today’s the perfect day to introduce them. The tunnels are one of the funkiest things about my new work ‘hood — and the weirdness is welcome!

Vienna Waits

Vienna Waits

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At first I wasn’t going to chance it today, the first day the Orange Line would be running straight through from Vienna to Ballston again. Forty-two days of track work had made me a Silver Line refugee.

Sure, I got used to it. The station is a little closer to my house, and there are these funky pop-up stores on the plaza. But the pop-up stores aren’t open at 6:30 a.m., and there is the basic fact that I’m driving away from the city to get into it.

So today I threw caution to the wind. I drove that familiar route, the rolling Fox Mill, the many-curved Vale. And I parked in one of those ample spots and passed through that familiar turnstile.

What can I say except to channel Billy Joel:

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You’re gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you …


Cue the accordions. It’s my stop, and it’s back in business.

See How They Run

See How They Run

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Washington, D.C.’s Metro system has been much maligned lately, both here and, frankly, all over the media. But here’s one advantage that is seldom mentioned: Metro keeps us in shape.

I thought about this today while running for a train. D.C. strap hangers know how long it will be until another train appears, so when they see one coming — especially at the end of the Silver Line, where the tracks are visible across a vast stretch of elevated sidewalk — they take off.

This is in addition to the escalator and stair-climbing (systems are often broken so you’ll be climbing no matter which you take), the balance improved by frequent standing in crowded cars, and, of course, hanging on for dear life (great for upper body strength).

The commuting life is a healthy life, as long as you ignore the stress levels. Take those out of the equation and you have the perfect fitness opportunity. Puts a whole new spin on the words “in training.” Why join a gym when you have Metro?

Week Without Metro

Week Without Metro

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It wasn’t planned, it just worked out that way, but as of yesterday, I’ve had one week without Metro. And yes, it’s been nice! It won’t last, of course. I can’t pull off a drive everyday. But if nothing else I will appreciate the reading time more next week when I jump back on the much reviled public transportation system.

In general, a train or bus is a good place for walkers to be. You hoof it to the bus stop or the subway. You make it work.

But time is a factor, too. And with daylight hours dwindling, walkers need every minute they can find.

So let’s hear it for a week without Metro … and more Metro-less weeks to come!

Turning a Corner

Turning a Corner

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Yesterday’s drive to and from the office was like a dream. Forty minutes in and forty minutes out. I gained 100 minutes of free time. I know it was unusual, I know it won’t hold up over time, but even if I saved 50 minutes, that’s almost an hour (a daylight hour!) a day.

Put five of those together and you have a paragraph written,  a closet cleaned — a walk enjoyed.

Driving has its own frustrations. Stop-and-go traffic, crazy drivers, the inability to get anything else done at the same time. (I love my reading time on Metro.)

But a flip has been switched, a corner has been turned. Fifty minutes is 50 minutes.