Walking Through Time

Thirty-one years ago, during the summer of 1984, I started walking 3-4 miles a day for fitness. A long family history of heart disease and diabetes motivated me to lace up my sneakers that first morning and head out into the early morning air. I walked along the streets of the small rural town I lived in at the time. Soon I found myself enjoying the quiet solitude before responsibilities and chores claimed my attention. Walking settled into my bones and stayed.

 

Today I walk in sunshine, rain, sleet, and snow. My limits are fever, icy conditions, and a wind chill or temperature of ten degrees or lower. I wish to avoid a nasty fall or frostbite. In a pinch or while traveling, I'll settle for a treadmill at the local gym but I know I won't see a deer nibbling grass in a pasture nor hear a chickadee calling to its mate nearby. I won't smell wet leaves or taste rain in my mouth.

 

Walking sustains my heart, mind, and spirit. Walking centers me and clears my head for the day. My thoughts loosen and float where they will, or I plan a writing project or a lesson plan or pray or sing a hymn to myself. I'm never bored. Walking tones my muscles, and it's the most natural thing in the world to do. I don't need lessons or a trainer or special equipment. Sturdy shoes with decent tread and thick socks are my biggest investments and necessities.

 

I've walked through presidential elections, the endless war on drugs and crime, my parents' deaths, a life threatening illness, break-ups, employment changes, successes and failures, and joys and disappointments. Walking never fails to soothe or comfort or refresh or celebrate life's happenings.   

 

The anticipation of experiencing something new within the familiar pushes me out the door every morning. Spring rains turn to summer's heat to autumn's russet leaves to winter's slush. Each season offers gifts and blessings for the senses.

 

I've encountered white-tailed deer and red foxes and chipmunks and squirrels and porcupines, each of us going about our business. I've watched ducks and geese and crows and blue jays honk, squawk, and fly overhead. This morning I discovered fresh moose tracks in the roadside's damp soil. I'm still not sure whether I'm elated or disappointed that the moose and I didn't cross paths. And that's the heart of walking: to observe the landscape for surprises, to know one tree intimately, or to love the sun's slant through one patch of forest like I love my husband's face in sunlight or shadow.

 

Each morning work and chores await, but for a little while it's simply the road and me. Someday, when I'm gone, I hope the ghosts of my footsteps will remain throughout time.