I used to walk everywhere. But I was always going somewhere; not just for a “walk”. Aimlessly. Idly. Not just around in circles.
But now I have a car.
Now I’m just going in circles. See, you get the odd urge to get back in shape and so you drive to the nearest track. Around in circles you go. You pick up a handful of pebbles, say eight, to drop and mark your laps.
The devil’s riding your shoulder, going “Holy God, buddy, are we there yet or what? I think you forgot to drop a rock at the top of that last lap. Are you sure? We’ve been out here a long time. We’ve seen all this again and again.”
Fair enough. That’s it. You’re finished. Call it hmm... eight.
Now you can feel good about yourself. Go for a coffee and a nice healthy oatcake. The heck. Yeh just walked. You’ll be marvelous when you get home, too. The fresh air has done wonders for your patience.
Or maybe you drive to a park that has wooded paths, so you’re not going around in circles.
Still.
The purpose of your walk isn’t to go somewhere. The purpose is health.
I don’t think there are any debates going on around about whether walking is fun. It’s not “fun.” It’s work. Pleasant at best. Like meditation. Though you’re always glad you did it. And often proud and you go around slipping the fact that you went for a walk into conversations with other people. Into texts. You might put a picture of your walk on social media.
And you love that smell in the woods in the fall. It’s like feet, but in a good way.
Hiking. OK, hiking’s fun. Walking’s work.
Oh. And when you have a car and you decide to go for a walk, first you have to go shopping for a nice walking shoe. That’s fun. Maybe some hiking pants or track pants. A nice outfit. Something to either make you look woodsy, or something that pops, like hot pink, popsicle green. A shiny yellow X vest.
But walking alone in the country. You get a kink in your neck looking over your shoulder. Could be bears out there. Clowns. Ne’er-do-wells.
Maybe you should take your walk in town. In plain sight. But the noise, the noise.
Solution: a nice set of headphones. Great big ... You’ll look like you’re trying to land an airplane.
Ear buds, then. Discreet. Noise cancelling. But what if somebody comes up behind you and ... sure, you won’t even hear them coming. Somebody’ll poke you in the back and you’ll have a heart attack and drop dead. The next thing you know, you’re looking out at the world from a one-and-a-half-inch square picture in the obituaries in tomorrow’s newspaper.
That fast.
Obituary: done and done. But who wrote it? My wife? Gawaa! If I suddenly fell off the perch, it would take her months ... years ... to be able to pick up a pen.
Maybe you should stay home today and write your own obituary.
OK ... who am I? Was I? Was I a good person? I tried to be, but ... Nobody’s perfect. I mean. Sure, pick any soul out of a crowd, a saint even, you spend enough time together, you start looking at your watch, see yourself going out of your mind. But we’re all human. All in it together. I was always for humanity.
Regrets. I’ve had a few. But then again ... you know ...
I always wanted to be a vegetarian. A plant-based guy. I would have taken another run at it, but ... patience. I really needed to work on that virtue.
Wait now. I’m not checking out yet, that I know of.
And I always dreamed of not having to have a car and walking everywhere again.
Just to get somewhere.
Mike Finigan from Glace Bay is a freelance writer now living in Sydney River. He can be contacted at [email protected].
