Epic Walks:
So my friend Roman does this thing called “Epic Walks” where he’ll walk with a friend or loved one for several hours and enjoy each other’s company. ‘Course he lives in Chicago where the steepest hill is a speed bump, not here in San Francisco where hills as much a landmark as the Golden Gate Bridge.
On Saturday, I hadn’t been to gym but I also wanted to go to the movies. Suzan had errands to run so she dropped me off at Stonestown Mall where I caught an early screening of Junebug (lovely, sweet litte film) and walked home.
I shouldn’t have worn brand new shoes. 10-12 blocks in my angles were already starting to tingle. So I slowed down, started up, skipped dawdled and tried to focus on what a beautiful summer afternoon it was in San Francisco rather than how much cardio benefit I was getting.
The whole walk took about 90 minutes not including lunch. If I focused on number of blocks left, I got discouraged so I tried to concentrate either on my immediate surroundings or let my thoughts wonder. And keep my feet moving.
When I was 14, my mother and brother and I climbed a 3,000 foot mountain in Switzerland without knowing it. We just kept following paths this way and that. The elevation was gentle enough that it didn’t strain you. We got to the top without realizing it because we didn’t look up or ever stop and think “I wonder how far we’ve come.” Our minds were elsewhere.
I believe I can walk a helluva long way if I’m not in a hurry and my focus is on the steps rather than the finish line. But when you’re done and you look at how far you’ve walked and yes, you’re feet probably hurt and you wonder where the afternoon went, you can say “I did that? Man, that’s pretty damn cool,” and you’ll remember it for a long time.
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Lovely post, Kevin. Makes me want to head for the hills. I just went to Sports Basement (how did SB land the prime real estate in The Presidio?) and came home with an attractive but uncomfortable pair of “country walking shoes,” whatever the hell that means…Wonderful lit treats for writers are Sebald’s The Emigrants and the book I’m reading now, John Berger’s Here is Where We Meet. Both of which can be read barefoot, to spare your aching feet.
Lovely post, Kevin. Makes me want to head for the hills. I just went to Sports Basement (how did SB land the prime real estate in The Presidio?) and came home with an attractive but uncomfortable pair of “country walking shoes,” whatever the hell that means…Wonderful lit treats for writers are Sebald’s The Emigrants and the book I’m reading now, John Berger’s Here is Where We Meet. Both of which can be read barefoot, to spare your aching feet.
Because I am being cast as a wimpy, midwestern flatlander, I should point out that the epic walk was invented in San Francisco.
Because I am being cast as a wimpy, midwestern flatlander, I should point out that the epic walk was invented in San Francisco.
No casting intended, just context.
No casting intended, just context.