I made a new friend on my walk today. We’ve met with mutual suspicion six times a week for a few weeks now. He lowers his head, looks at me surreptitiously, and keeps his distance. I keep my eye on him as I pass on the other side of the path. But today was different.
I walk for about an hour every day except Thursday, usually alone. It’s a peaceful time. I listen to a talk for part of the time, and to music the rest of the time, except for Saturday morning. Saturday is Shabbat and my time off from electronics. My Saturday walk is a little less quiet – all that noise in my head. That’s okay, too, though. My curiosity gets a kick out of all those thoughts. “What? THAT one again?”
I started this walking thing – or I should say I got back to it after a very long break – about 2 months ago. It seemed an easily accessible habit, useful for changing the sedentary lifestyle that crept up on me when I began having hip pain from my Nordic machine.
Research shows that it takes 28 days to create a habit. That seems true for my walking regime. It’s become a habit. I check the weather & my schedule to decide the best time to get out there. The time arrives and I lace up my sneakers. I connect my earbuds, choose the talk I want, slip the phone into a back pocket, and I’m out the door.
Today’s walk started out the same. Aside from a sore throat and a little cough, nothing warned of a difference in today’s walk. After almost a full day of rain yesterday – with just enough delay to allow for a walk under threatening skies – the sun warmed the crisp mid-winter air just enough to allow me to shed my down jacket after fifteen minutes.
The talk I chose was good. They always are. The winding road up the hill was pleasant – not too easy and not too challenging. It always is.
The difference came from inside, I guess. One of those awakenings that come upon us all of a sudden. Or it seems to be all of a sudden, but I’m betting it’s the culmination of lots of stuff. For some reason, today, after about forty similar walks, I felt how strong my legs have become and how easy my breath comes on the incline now. I was aware of my sure-footedness coming downhill on loose gravel. I realized that I was enjoying the walk for its own sake. I had a glimmer of why hikers love to hike. Today it wasn’t about being healthier or exercising my knee or my hip. Today was pure pleasure.
When I got near the top of the penultimate hill I saw the same dog I’d seen in the very same place on every walk, but this time I didn’t pass him warily. This time I approached him with my hand extended. He didn’t move. He, too, had created a habit. But he let me rest my hand on his head and, after a few seconds, his tail started wagging as I massaged his neck. It was only a moment in time. Then he went his way and I went mine.
Later, on a secluded, wooded path, I danced to “Fallin’ All in You” before resuming a sedate demeanor more suitable to a 66-year-old woman on a bright noon somewhere in January.
(please click on the photo)
Hours later I can’t stop the feelings of gratitude. Thankful for my body’s vitality (with all its aches and pains of aging, coughs and sniffles of winter) – the muscles in my legs, my lungs, my heart. Thankful for the undeveloped countryside right near my home. Thankful for the resources and the freedom to wander. Thankful for my many teachers – official & unofficial – who imbue me with the ability to see the half-full glass (and the occasional moments when I realize that it’s full).
Maybe I’ll meet my friend again tomorrow.
= 
(maybe the most fun of all) 
And I haven’t found a good guide book yet. Not on Lonely Planet or Footprint or even Google.
but there can be some nice things about napping. 
And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of it all.
gettingoutalive 