Walking and Running

Walking and running are not just a means of locomotion for me, although, growing up in New York City, I have a walking gene. All of us, my extended family have the same gene.

Short answer: I walk every day, usually several miles and I run at least three times a week.

I have walked around New York State, Indiana, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Tennessee and other states between catching rides while I hitchhiked. There are way too many sublime memories to recount them all but here are a few that resonate at this moment:

Getting dropped off alongside a country highway in upstate New York, somewhere southeast of Rochester, and standing on the roadside among endless fields of alfalfa, wheat, corn, whatever they were growing. What struck me was how QUIET it was. The car that dropped me, faded into the distance and then it was like there was not another human on the face of the earth. That was almost fifty years ago and I still remember it vividly.

Getting up early, before sunrise in Worms, Germany and running through the city center, among the shops and cathedrals and children on their way to school. There were so many bakeries, all of them open so early; lights blazing, baked goods displayed in glass cases in the store fronts, luring you in. Every child I saw was carrying something freshly baked, munching it as they walked. Runners are carbohydrate hounds so it was hard not to sneak in and grab something. What a country!

And so many walks to talk. When you are younger, everything is writ large, everything is serious and life shattering. So there is a lot of walking to do to talk with your friends, baring hearts, telling inner secrets. Usually at night. Always at night. Night is the time for angst, and drama, and contemplating how things will never be the same. A friend is crying about a girl. A girl is crying about a friend. You’re telling a girl you want her, a girl is telling you she wants you. Sometimes the walks involve laughter, tears, someone sniffing and saying “I know, you’re right.” And sometimes they end with a broken heart and sometimes they end with a kiss in the rain.

A long walk through Nashville, after getting dropped off by a stranger who stopped and gave me a ride. Getting chased out of a few neighborhoods and finally, almost to my destination, laying down exhausted under a tree next to a Waffle House and falling asleep. I’d like to say I woke up and had breakfast at the Waffle House but if I’d had money I wouldn’t have been hitchhiking. Back then you could sleep under a tree, and watch cop cars come and go on their coffee breaks and no one would bother you. Or you could hitchhike and kind strangers would pick you up…both of you sharing a little bit of risk.

This is making me realize how many walking stories I have and how many, sweet, languid experiences I had. And of course…a few scary ones. But the scary ones go with the territory and you take the good with the bad.