Yes, Indeed, I'm Walkin'

It was during the summer of 1984 when I first realized that I could just . . . walk somewhere, if I wanted to get there.  I was living in a bit of a hovel on S. 13th Street, and one morning, I woke with a hankering to visit my mom, who lived across town, maybe 5 or 6 miles away.  Because I had the time, and the legs, and the curiosity about what it would be like, I walked to her house that day.

It was wonderful.

A succession of dogs--coupled with a few decades of summers off--have made sure that I would keep up that tradition.

Lucky, lucky me.

Yesterday, I relished two terrific--and very different--walks.  The first, at Holmes Lake, was a quiet and welcomed return to snowless paths and warmer temperatures, two conditions that Finn's Portuguese paws required.

We headed up the dam, Finn sniffing the grasses for skittering voles, and me scanning the leeward side, hoping to see a fox or a coyote.  Halfway across the dam, my monkey mind now silent, I started to find my groove. That's when I noticed a lone ice fisherman inching across the lake, pulling a sled behind him.  And I began to think about the ice and walking on the water and things both biblical and scientific.

My thoughts were interrupted by the mournful call of a solitary goose, the sight of seed-speckled scat, the smell of cold, clean air.  They were exactly what the doctor had ordered, especially following a student-and-stimulus-heavy Friday at school.  I was hungry for something that did not involve humans and I found it, in spades.

By 2:30, though--revived and relaxed--I was ready for my peeps.  And I found them, in droves, just north of the Student Union.  Not a goose or a vole in sight, my afternoon walk was filled with passionate people who spanned a beautiful spectrum of age and culture and identity.  We walked and laughed and chanted together, eventually making our way to the steps of our stunningly beautiful capitol building, where, we hoped, equality really is before the law.

---------

I have lots of friends who run and every one of them tells me how awesome it is, pumping legs and blood and air in equal measure.    I hate to think of them as liars, and I suppose it is possible (though not probable) that something pleasurable comes from all that work.  But, every time I put feet to ground and saunter along a path, I am certain that walking is the ultimate way to see and experience this wonderful world, my heart rate low and easy, my senses happily working overtime.