I’ve never been particularly athletic. My gym / workout career can be only be described as sporadic – those bursts of inspiration under the guise that “if I spend the money on a gym membership, it will make me do it …” It’s that same type of inspiration that motivated me over the years to buy a treadmill, an exercise bike and elliptical running machine, a heart-rate monitor, an AbLounge and an exercise mat. I’ve had memberships at 24 Hour Fitness, Bally, Mademoiselle and the YMCA.
But what finally did the trick was my dog, Gilda. A couple of chapters into Cesar’s Way by famed dog-whisperer, Cesar Millan, and I was convinced that my dog needed to walk twice a day. He conceded that a mile walk was a poor substitute for a “real” walk, but that it would do in a pinch as a minimum. I charted a three mile walk around my neighborhood and we started early one Saturday morning in June. That was two and a half years ago. For almost a year Gilda and I headed out the door twice a day, no matter what the weather. The first six weeks were a painful baptism for me. Going from a history of false starts to three miles every twelve hours shocked my body for almost six weeks. A block or two would ease my muscle aches but the rest of the day I cringed every time I stood. Most of my walks were short trips around the office or to the parking garage, never long enough to warm up my muscles. It was nothing short of miraculous that I stuck with it. Like I said, it was because of Gilda. Cesar Millan was more than a dog-whisperer to me, he was a personal motivator and coach/trainer for this girl.
As we began to settle into a rhythm, I enjoyed the early morning walks best of all. I watched the subtle, nearly indiscernible changes as the gardens slowly developed through the season. Pastel flowers of June — the iris, daisies, delphinium, and columbines — made way for purple coneflowers, vividly orange and yellow daylilies and the bold red charms of monarda, the siren’s call to bees and butterflies. The chirp of my favorite bird, the cardinal, and the always startling red flash of the male never failed to make me smile. We began to recognize some of the dogs that we passed, either walking or fence-bound captives. My stride felt supple and strong.
Once I conquered the walk, my mind was free to wander. Idle thoughts passed through my head while I mentally mouthed four-digit addresses from the mailboxes I passed. Four three one nine … four three one nine … suddenly I would hear the chant and wonder why those numbers were stuck in my head. It was like doodling for the brain. Sometimes I was upset about something or someone; sometimes it was all I could do to keep from crying as I puzzled over a painful situation. At those times it took all I had to breathe steadily, avoiding the painful stitch in my side that would just make a bad situation worse. But it always helped that I was outdoors, progressing through my neighborhood. I was literally walking away from whatever bothered me, leaving time and the situation behind. Underneath my concentrated breathing and weepy replays, my mind was unraveling a solution. By the time I walked back up the driveway at home, breathless and feeling cleansed, I was ready to take on anything.
Gilda and I became girls in the ‘hood. In my mind, I returned to my fantasies from childhood. I was a princess in disguise; my dog and I traveled our kingdom, taking forgotten paths and passing under the trees into the deep, dark wood.
By September the morning walks began in the dark. Nervously, I awaited the colder weather, knowing that I’d never spent much time outdoors in the snow. I studied the cold-weather gear on-line at L.L. Bean, investing in wool socks, lined walking boots, long underwear and spikes that would attach to my boots. I carried a small flashlight in my pocket, turning it on to let it bob in the dark. And, then, oh the wonders of the winter snow! That first winter was so snowy that the sidewalks were flanked by hip-high piles of shoveled snow. With my boot spikes I was more sure-footed than I’d ever been in my entire life. It was as though I owned the ‘hood – we became the protectors of the streets, striding forth each morning and evening to meet the cold.
Walking in the dark is a sensual treat: the cold air livens the skin to a flush; the rhythmic stepping crunch is the only sound, seemingly for miles; the chilling moonlight bathes the snowy field with light so bright that nothing remains hidden, and then the joyful, warm scent of wood burning instantly calls to mind the picture of a home fireplace. I never wanted that winter to end. The last snow brought tears to my eyes.
Now I’m a walking pro. Last summer I trained for a walking marathon, working up to a ten mile walk with Gilda. We didn’t have a marathon but we enjoyed the training. (It is on my to-do list, though, to find a walking marathon and earn the 26.2 sticker for the back of my car.) I’m still saving money by not joining a gym and my only expense is new walking shoes a couple of times a year.
Walk on.