The Gift of a Simple Walk

This long, snowy winter has made me reflect upon how much I take walking for granted. That simple act of locomotion, simply swinging one foot in front of the other and shifting weight from foot to foot.

Just a few short months ago, I could skip out my front door, down the block, and off in any direction, striding confidently over the smooth sidewalks as quickly or as slowly as I felt. Usually I would start with a brisk, not-quite-speedwalk, "engaging my glutes" as the fitness folk say to propel myself vigorously down the sidewalk. 

After a mile or two my body would lose interest in exertion and settle into a ramble, seeing the sights as I considered where to turn next. There was no treachery on the ground beyond the occasional sidewalk crack jutting up, or sometimes even an unanticipated incline to trip my autopilot feet. A walk could take twenty minutes or two hours, around the neighborhood or across town. Sidewalks or sidepaths, dirt footpaths or cross country across the grass--the opportunities were endless!

Now? Not so. Every jaunt outside requires careful planning and anticipation. Did my neighbors shovel their sidewalks? How far can I get before I encounter that house that failed to clear their sidewalk? Which trails is the city clearing? Have they been cleared since the last snow? And that's not even considering the layers of clothing and footwear required.

A walk along the Greenway trail, even after it has been cleared, can be an exercise in mindfulness. Always watching for the lurking patch of ice as I carefully place my foot down flat--none of that brisk, heel-first summertime striding--on clear, dry pavement or crunchy snow alongside the trail, hoping the crust is thick enough to support me while pondering the expense and ease of use of snowshoes. 

I walk carefully, sometimes entertaining myself at the slower pace by pretending to be a heron, lifting my knee until my thigh is parallel to the ground and carefully placing my foot down. Or making a point to place my feet in the prints left by others and considering how tall or short they might as I compare this artificial stride with my natural one. 

Then comes a bright, sunny day, and seeing the glisten of melting ice and snow on the path, letting you know that this, too, shall pass.