the walker

The New York Times has been running an excellent series on their web page entitled One in 8 Million. One of their recent posts really spoke to me, suggesting a type of existence that I long for. It tells the story of a 30-year-old waitress named Maggie Nesciur, who walks  up to 90 miles per week around the neighborhoods of New York City. She has never owned a pair of sneakers, and instead does all her walking in either cowboy or motorcycle boots. She says, “I don’t walk fast; I don’t walk slow; I walk at my own speed. I have to keep moving. If I’m not moving, my mind isn’t moving much either.” Well said. You can watch and listen to her story here.

walking

My son was born in an Adventist hospital in Maine. In the lobby of the hospital, there was a spinner containing a wide array of pamphlets. I passed over the ones with an overt religious theme, but one in particular caught my eye. It was entitled “Walking: The Miracle Medicine.” Now, when I was younger, single, and childless, going to the gym was a big part of my life. Sometimes, I would even do what we used call in football practice “double sessions,” meaning on some days I would visit the gym twice a day. Now don’t get me wrong. I highly value physical fitness, but when you have children, double sessions at the gym are a thing of the past. So now, I try to swim on my lunch breaks at work, and walk at least four miles a day. Lately I’ve started to understand the truth behind the phrase that walking is indeed the miracle medicine. You can read Thoreau’s complete essay on walking here.

hiking to fitchburg

When a friend suggested to Henry that he take the train from his home in Concord to Fitchburg to see the sights, Henry calculated that it would be better to walk the thirty miles than to spend his time working to earn the train fare. So often, we spend our time working to earn our fare, when we should instead be lacing up our hiking shoes and stepping out onto the open road.