I’ve begun taking walks. For me, they are “serious” walks, around and around the upstairs track at the local recreation center. It has been a very, very long time since I’ve felt able to take a real walk.
Most mornings I put on my walking shoes and meet my friend Rho. We walk a mile or a mile and a half, or whatever. I’m increasing the distance as I gain stamina, but in the end, I don’t care how long or far we go. My goal remains just walk.
This morning I was alone, since Rho had to do an early errand. I pulled up The Weepies on my iPhone, and I walked until my knee told me to stop, and until my numb toes began making that slap-slap sound with each step. Then I went back downstairs and drove to the nursing home to see Judy’s mother, who greeted me with “Hello! You have a nice life.”
I don’t want much. I want the stamina, I want to burn calories, I want to get my lymphatic system moving. I want to find the thing that I think walking will bring me: some clarity to my morning that might carry me through the day. And I want that nice life, too.
Not Plain Jane 