July 23, 2008

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  Walking is a joy I didn't embrace until my early
  thirties, when I rediscovered the heart-lifting freedom we all felt as
  children, moving around in the outdoors.
    When my boys
  were three and five, our family moved into town after living way out in
  the country for a number of years. In town, instead of rutted gravel
  roads, I found oak-shaded sidewalks to walk on. And in town, I found
  companions to walk with.
    One friend in particular
  introduced me to the pleasures of walking. Sandra, the wife of the
  First Baptist pastor, lived in the pastorium right down the street from
  me. Always immaculately dressed — which in that era involved walking
  shorts, knitted vests and Peter-Pan collars — she would lace up her
  tennis shoes several times a day and head out at a healthy clip for a
  therapeutic walk, away from the cares of her busy household.
    The
  first time I tagged along with her, I was gasping for breath after the
  first few blocks. I kept at it, though, and it wasn't long before I,
  too, was bitten by the walking bug and able to enjoy hearty hikes
  around town.
    Over my years in Mississippi, I walked more
  days than not, with various friends, and often by myself. My usual
  route was about three miles, from my house, past many landmarks of my
  life —  the First Methodist Church, where both my mother and my boys
  were baptized and grew up — past the century-old Catholic church, which
  later became so precious to me — past my grandmother Poppy's dear old
  house — past the red-brick hospital, where both of my boys were born.
     For
  the next 15 years, I clocked a lot of miles on those familiar streets.
  A few early mornings, but mostly late afternoons after work, I'd
  tennis-shoe up and head out. Walking was something I did just for
  myself.
      If I was walking with a friend, it was a great
  way to catch up and visit. And when I walked by myself, in some ways
  that was even better. I could think, and pray, and sometimes just let
  my busy mind wander and rest.
     It was a special delight to
  me to remember, as I walked across our town's uneven sidewalks, that my
  faraway Mama had roller-skated across that same bumpy concrete when she
  was a skinny little tow-headed girl.
     After I moved away from Mississippi, I've never again achieved that degree of walker's dedication.
     During
  my Sarasota years, my favorite walks were barefoot ones along the beach
  at Siesta Key, right at the edge of the water where the sand was firm.
  I also walked often on the winding paths in our neighborhood, through
  palm trees and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, past curving lakes
  where lazy alligators sunned on the banks.
     Since Doyle
  and I moved to the Ozarks, I haven't walked nearly as much as I did in
  my younger days. We periodically do some trail-walking down near the
  Buffalo, and we also walk in our neighborhood, or down at Lake
  Harrison, from time to time.
    But I long to add more
  walking to my life. Not just because it's good for my physical health —
  because it's good for my mental health, and I think it might be good
  for my soul, too.
    When you walk, you see things. You see
  the bees buzzing around the flowers. You see the butterflies dancing
  around the purple butterfly bushes. You see the mama redbird darting
  down from the dogwood branch, and the robin family playing tag around
  the pink crepe myrtles. You make friends with everybody's dogs. You get
  to enjoy the fruits of your neighbor's hard work in their yards, and
  admire their tomato plants. You get to watch little kids on important
  bicycle journeys. You know when people mow their yards, and when
  they're having company over for supper on the patio. You meet folks who
  are out watering their flowers. You become knitted into life in your
  neighborhood.
     Walking reduces my stress level. I always
  compare it to taking the top off a Coke bottle after it's been shaken
  up, and letting the built-up fizz out. Walking makes me sleep better,
  and improves my mood and my outlook on life. I can catch up on my
  thinking, and my praying. My leg muscles get a workout, but while
  they're working, other parts of me are unwinding and recharging.
     If
  you're feeling blue, walking can be one of the best medicines. For me,
  just getting out in the fresh air and being surrounded by Nature
  instead of by four walls can lift my spirits. And then there's the
  physiological boost of getting your heart pumping and your endorphins
  flowing, making you feel better from the inside out.
     Walking
  gives you a whole different perspective on life. It lets you see things
  from a kids'-eye view, and reminds you of being a child, when you
  wandered under your own steam, on foot or by bike — when you could see
  things close-up. When you knew your neighbors' dogs names. When you
  knew what everybody's backyard looked like, and where the smoothest
  stretches of sidewalk were, and the best climbing-trees. When you were
  acquainted with fresh air and sunshine, and that good tired feeling
  your legs have at night after you've put them to good use. When you
  were free to just — be.

  By Celia DeWoody
  Copyright 2009 Harrison (Ark.) Daily Times
  July 23, 2008
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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