A long time ago — in the 80s — in SELF magazine — was an ad for Reebox. It showed a woman walking on a wooden sidewalk near a lake. Behind her was a wet golden retriever who looked (obviously) very happy. The caption was, “You CAN Walk Away from Your Problems.”
I cut out the ad and glued it into one of the journals I can’t throw away but never look at.
I learned this lesson as a kid and I was happy to see it validated in a magazine. But others have discovered this, too.
II think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least—and it is commonly more than that—sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements…. Henry David Thoreau, “Walking.”https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1862/06/walking/304674/
I’ve probably written a hundred blog posts — and a whole book! — on this topic. and the book, My Everest pretty much just says this:
My vicinity affords many good walks; and though for so many years I have walked almost every day, and sometimes for several days together, I have not yet exhausted them. An absolutely new prospect is a great happiness, and I can still get this any afternoon. Two or three hours’ walking will carry me to as strange a country as I expect ever to see… There is in fact a sort of harmony discoverable between the capabilities of the landscape within a circle of ten miles’ radius, or the limits of an afternoon walk, and the threescore years and ten of human life. It will never become quite familiar to you.Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”
Almost everything I’ve done for the past year has been directed toward continuing to be able to…
Walking IS exercise, but not very efficient exercise for things we might need, such as weight loss or flexibility. For years I mocked people who went to gyms or did yoga in studios with lots of other people. My mockery was unfair, but I’m an extremely flawed human. Now I work out on a piece of gym equipment and do yoga but the purpose of all that is to make it easier for me to walk.
But the walking of which I speak has nothing in it akin to taking exercise, as it is called, as the sick take medicine at stated hours—as the Swinging of dumb- bells or chairs; but is itself the enterprise and adventure of the day. If you would get exercise, go in search of the springs of life.Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”
Some people don’t get this. Once, out on a walk in the California chaparral, an acquaintance and I walked about 8 miles. She asked me how far we’d gone and I told her. Her response, “Do you do this every day?”
“Why aren’t you thin?”
In my defense, I wasn’t fat. I’m a compact muscular person; she was a tall lithe person. I thought, “You’re not coming with me again, ever.” She had no idea why we were there, or what I was doing. I took off running, calling out behind me, “If you can keep up with me, you can call me fat.”
She couldn’t catch me. I was in my car and about to pull out of the parking lot before she caught up, red-faced and breathing hard.
Some people do get it. Last month I took a mountain hike with my friend, Elizabeth. It was a big moment for me, my first mountain hike since I moved back here four years ago. Plus, you know, my “religion.” Going out there is an experience I don’t really have words for. Elizabeth is Church of England. We were walking along — not fast. I have asthma and until I’m warmed up speed is impossible, and, anyway, I wanted to look around. Groves of aspen trees such as I have never seen, a foot-rough but easy trail, a stream on the bottom.
Geologically it was exactly the same as one of my favorite hikes in San Diego County, but the vegetation belonged to Colorado. Where in California there were sycamore and oak trees lining the trail, here were aspen and spruce. I love that aspect to nature, that if you’ve wandered enough you experience the grand repetition of natural forms in different scales appropriate to the place.
We stopped and looked at the hundreds of aspen trees reaching high into the sky. Young spruce huddled happily, hopefully, on the base of the forest. I was awed, with tears in my eyes, so happy to be there, to see them, to be able to walk again after years of debilitation pain, surgery and rehab. I was definitely repaired. My walking possibilities had been returned to me, and here was this miracle of nature. I said to Elizabeth, “This is my church.”
She said, “I know,” and said she hoped we could visit my church again soon.