Walking

There's a back road   with a couple of semi-challenging hills and several easier ups and downs near here. From the house, walking that road to where it dead-ends at  I 70 and back to the house is 3.62 miles.  But it is not quite enough.

If I go from the house to the golden arches over at the junction of I-70 and US 231 and back I add another 2.2 miles.

I cut cross country to avoid walking on the highways. Through the field adjacent to the Mexican restaurant, behind Chicago Pizza, in front of the hardware store and across the mowed field next to some motel. At that point I can cross

 US 231's 6 lanes where there is a median so I only have to watch one direction while crossing half way. A pause at the median to reconnoiter, and a slow dash to the Shell station's drive. Cross the Shell station paved gas pump area, cross at the driveway to the golden arches, and voila, I'm alive. My reward is a diet Coke.

This is the first day  since I got back that I have had a walk with any  adventure to it. Walking on Private Property and crossing 6 lane highways is okay as a baby step, but it is not going to prepare me for the challenge I'm training for.

Dodging cars, motorcycles, taxis, buses and stray dogs on broken, uneven pavement is my goal. 

My first memory of the conscious act of "walking" is from Delaware Street when I was 6 and walking home from school #60. That was when I remember flying.

Walking to town with Daddy on Christmas Eve to get a Christmas tree. Always snowing and always crunchy underfoot and always dark.

Walking to Tech from the Fletcher house while discussing the idea of not lifting your feet too high and gaining speed or saving time or some such thing with another girl named Alice who lived across what was then Finch Park.

Walking from my apartment on Laurel, by way of Pleasant Run Parkway to Shirley and Darrell's apartment. And from the same apartment to the Prospect library.

Pregnant with Bobby, walking mile out Kentucky Avenue, I think, after riding the bus to the end of the line to go to my prenatal checkups. Being amazed and disgusted when guys honked at me with my nine month belly.

Walking with Bobby & Kelly in their cool baby carriage from our Arsenal apartment to Mother and Daddy's house on Fletcher and them insisting on driving us back home, which was a lot more trouble than just hoofing it. 

A lull having 2 more babies and working a while.

Walking downtown from 14th Street and all over the Eastside with David when he was about 8 or 9. 

Then in GA. The trail. That's where the real stuff started. Most in one day, 14 miles, but tough miles.

Other walking memories: 

Visiting Kelly in South Boston and climbing those last three long flights of stairs after getting off the T . It was the only way to get home and there were days I thought I might not make the last flight.

Chicago, of course. I traveled much of the city on foot. Once carrying a folding 6 foot table from the Merchandise Mart to 200 North Dearborn, fighting the wind as it tried to push me off the bridge over the Chicago River.

Winding up, one day, under the streets over by Wabash and Wacker Drive, I think, where the deliveries for all the hotels were unloaded. This was by the river where the homeless people had their encampment and their 50 gallon barrel for cooking. And climbing up the stairs from under there to the bridge that led to Wacker Drive.

Wendall and I trudging down Loving Road in snow over our knees. Going somewhere just to get out after the blizzard of 93 or whatever.

 The more I think about it the more I realize that walking has been a part of my life almost as much as reading has. Mostly solitary walking, or at least someone else who was a walker too. Kelly won't walk with me. 

Glen and I walking, after dark, across the city to a restaurant overlooking the canal over by IU. Actually I was really hustling to keep up with Glen so I would seem to be healthy and strong. We walked under overpasses that night too. Places I wouldn't go alone.

Then Costa Rica. Walking as a way of life, a reason for life, just walking as life.

And now, whoda thunk it, Cloverdale, Indiana. Ya gotta look, but there are places to walk.

I figure if I can get up to 10 miles a day at least 5 days a week that I will be ready by November to do Manuel Antonio beach to Quepos again.

I am so grateful to discover--because Daphne almost made me do it while I was in Atlanta--that I can come back. 

Today 5.75 miles + the equivalent- according to my Fitbit--of 14 flights of stairs.