A STORY WORTH TELLING
“Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time.” — Steven Wright
“Just another mile and a half,” cheered the treadmill display.
“But 3,000 more steps,” groaned the voice in my head.
The same voice reminds me every month about gym membership fees. Some months I call it dues.
Others, I just call it a donation.
Walking is more than the dying art of getting from one place to another. I walk to exercise: On the streets, at the gym, mornings and evenings, keeping the heart healthy, the body moving, cholesterol levels down, weight off.
It works for some. I keep hoping it works for me, too — someday. Walking is also a good time to think.
Like I did last week, reminiscing about walking to school back when grade-school kids actually did such things. We trudged through rain, sleet and snow; uphill, both ways and carrying 87 books and a Roy Rogers lunch box emblazoned with pictures of Roy, Dale, Trigger and Bullet.
I also wondered how many miles I’ve walked in my lifetime.
I walked to school during third, fourth and fifth grades in the West Texas town of Seymour. The elementary school was about four blocks north of our house on East Morris Street. It was about the same distance east of the downtown square. My father ran the local five-anddime Perry Brothers store, and walking to town for a haircut after school and riding home with him is a great memory.
When we moved east to Mount Pleasant, hikes to South Ward Elementary School were just two blocks from our house on Redbud Lane. Walking then also included real hikes. Saturday five-milers were commonplace in Coach Sam Parker’s Boy Scout troop. Sometimes those included hiking to a spot for a cookout lunch, then hiking back to town. A 10-mile hike or even an occasional 20-mile hike provided miles of memories.
Not every walking experience is intentional, however.
Walking can sometimes be a necessity, even a last resort. Like the time my son, Lee, and I stopped at an antique mall while traveling home to Pipe Creek in the Hill Country after a visit to East Texas.
As I made my exit, I noticed the fuel gauge.
“Gas at the next stop,” I noted. But as we made good time on Interstate 10 West, the truck hiccuped a couple of times, then went silent. “Oh yeah,” Lee reminded me. “Don’t forget, we need gas.”
Coasting to the top of the next hill revealed a fuel stop down the road. A long way down the road. I didn’t count the steps to the station, nor did I count them walking back carrying our newly purchased fuel can with a couple of gallons in it. The odometer pegged our walk there and back to be a little over 2 miles.
Lee swore it was 20 — one way.
Then there was that flight from Milwaukee to Appleton, Wisconsin, that arrived late one summer afternoon.
The Appleton airport was small, and so was the airplane that got me there. My hotel was located on West College Avenue, which conveniently ended at the airport entrance.
“I can have a cab here in 30 minutes to an hour,” reported the ticket agent.
Squinting a little, I looked down the street and convinced myself I could almost see the place where I had reservations.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“My walking shoes are in my bag. I can beat that.”
I arrived at the hotel. Later, the frontdesk person seemed dubious when I talked about walking back to the airport.
“It’s 2.3 miles to the airport,” the hotel desk clerk said while looking askance at me as she tapped on her keyboard.
Thank goodness my bag was a roller. I skipped the treadmill session I’d planned for the hotel gym that evening.
These days, according to the app on my phone, I breeze through about 3,500 to 5,000 steps a day, gusting to 7,500 or more on days when the treadmill and I connect. That’s 1.75 to 3.75 miles a day. Some of that is charted exercise; some not so much. I can honestly say I’ve learned a great deal from walking, like watching the gas gauge more closely. And I’ve given up walking from airports to hotels.
As I finish writing this, I’m just wondering, though. How many steps is it from the couch to the refrigerator? And do I need my walking shoes?
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com
