I used to walk every day. Summer, winter, rain, sleet, or snow. Okay, not sleet but everything else as long as the temperature was above -14 degrees C (my own arbitrary cut-off). I walked for miles each day and I loved it. I loved the fresh air filling my lungs and cooling my cheeks, the slight burn in my muscles, the way the knots in my mind worked loose and I could figure out what it was that I was thinking. Somehow after Merin died I lost track of that. I stopped walking and forgot to start again. Then the sand of life just sifted into the void that was left where I used to walk. Pretty soon it was filled up and I didn't even notice that there had been a spot for that in my life. Sometimes I would look out the window and think about a walk but the time and the inclination just....well, not there. But in the last few days, with our unseasonably spring-like weather, my walking shoes have been whispering to me again and I heard them. I went for a walk on Monday and the tips of my ears were hurting with the cold wind that blew but it felt so good - to walk. I was out again today. It felt so good again.
I walked by a few women and said hello and we smiled. They each looked like they would be lovely. I had a fleeting thought that it might be nice to walk with someone - to have a walking buddy. Then I thought about how I treasure the time I have with myself when I walk and I know I probably won't look for a walking buddy. I kind of need the time to remember who I am, to figure stuff out. I walk fast - just like my dad - but my mind slows down so that things seem much clearer. I come home feeling smooth and mellow.
It is good. To go walking again.