Today is another beautiful
day. I can hardly believe the luck – a string
of gorgeous days all put together nicely like a gift from Mother Nature. She must’ve forgotten how much she hates me;
either that or she feels like a wicked bitch about all that snow. Since it’s so incredibly nice out, and since
I don’t feel like battling the Bee-Bots on the patio, I decide to take a
walk.
Back when I was
walking/jogging, pre-Achilles tendinitis (which I still think is spelled
incorrectly, but apparently the orthopedist is correct and I am an idiot), I
would easily accomplish three 5k’s a week.
Not formal ones – just me walking around in circles and rhombuses and
weird routes that resemble doctors’ signatures when projected on Map My Walk. I would walk semi-aimlessly until I’d hit at
least 3.1 miles, and I’d do this several times a week.
Then came the leg issues,
then the snow (and more snow and even more snow), and now I have foot things
happening. I have zero patience when my
own body starts turning on me, so I pretend (as per the multiple clear x-rays)
that there’s nothing wrong with me, strap on a pair of sneakers, set the
walking app on my phone, and head out. Now,
when I say “sneakers,” I really mean shoes that are lightweight, sort of
canvas-y in a sneaker-like way, and provide zippo foot support. But, it’s hot out, and I don’t want my poor
footsies to get all sweaty.
I start my walk with a
vague plan in mind: Walk through town. I live a quarter of a mile from the town’s
center, and the center itself is probably a tenth of a mile long, so this great
planned route of mine isn’t going to get me the 3.1 miles for which I hope. So far, my plan is doomed to failure. Once I walk uphill to town, I figure I’ll
weave in and out of the side streets, stay on flat ground, and work my way home
again.
Honestly, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me
that I cannot follow even my own simple directions.
Before I can stop myself,
I weave through traffic, cut around intricate side streets, and attempt one of
the steepest walking hills near town – Morton Street. Like this is a good idea. Once I drag myself to the crest of the slope,
I decide to cut straight across and head down, down, down to my own street,
except that this decision goes completely into the shitter when I suddenly veer
left at the next intersection … and continue uphill.
I criss-cross street to
street, avoiding the pedestrian crosswalks, jaywalking every damn chance I get. I can hear my phone mumbling unintelligible
updates through the app, and I’m determined to get a decent pace per mile
today. After all, it’s all about the …
Suddenly I realize that I
pass by several interesting trees and flowering bushes that would make
excellent photos. The newly redone area
in front of the town hall has a granite-carved crest in it that would be a cool
camera subject. All the stuff that makes
a long walk worthwhile … I’m passing it by so quickly that I forget exactly why
I walk outside instead of on the treadmill.
What’s the point of being outside if the only object
is to accomplish that experience as rapidly as humanly possible? So I can what – go back inside?
Disgusted with myself, I
trudge downhill the rest of the way home, making excellent time, I might add,
but quite disappointed in myself. How
could I be so afflicted with tunnel vision as to worry about a few more minutes
of a wonderful walk so I can slow down and enjoy my surroundings? I’m willing to bet the next time I take a
walk, those flowering trees and bushes will be past prime. This whole getting in shape thing is tough
enough without losing myself in the process.
My sore feet and sore
tendons distract me from my sore attitude.
After 2.74 miles (not quite the 5k for which I’d hoped), I limp around
the house and promise myself two things:
1. Walking means enjoying the outdoors, damnit, so
take time to enjoy the outdoors.
2. Worry less about sweaty feet and wear decent
sneakers because my frigging feet are killing me right now.
