Going Just a Bit Further

Yesterday's "Walk to School Day" might have inspired me a bit. Or maybe it was the lovely weather. Or the numbers I've come to detest on the bathroom scale.

I walked today. Not just a trot with a kid a half mile to school and back. Not merely a mile stroll along the Greenway.

I walked.

Four miles.

Yes I did.

Why? Because I'm crazy.

No, no, no. Being crazy had nothing to do with it (although it's a good excuse in many circumstances.) I left the car up at the Firestone store to get its brakes checked. I could have called a friend to drive me back.  One of the service guys offered to drive me and my daughter back to our house. I ought to have waited until Scott got home to even take it up there. But in between all those reasons at the top of the page, and the discussions we've had at play practice about the extensive walking habits of Europeans, I felt that as a healthy, able-bodied American, I could walk home the three miles, plus the half to the school and back for my son. My daughter couldn't walk that far, but we still have strollers.

I left from Firestone about 1:15 p.m. Right out the door I stopped to talk with a woman from my church, so I didn't get started for another few minutes. I rechecked the clock, it said 1:18 p.m. We were off.

The first mile, of course, was the worst. Most of it was a slight rise that was hard to perceive with the eye, but my calves pointed it out to me at every step. Daughter and stroller weighed about 50 pounds, making the walk a true "work-out." The sidewalk had drifts of grass clippings to wade through. The eight-year-old stroller had wheels with failing integrity and no tread; it was like they were rimmed with marshmallows. Gravity and friction were not my friends for the first mile. They were quite disagreeable. I began to feel I might BE crazy and I wondered if I'd make it home by tomorrow. The sounds of the cars dashing by on Weatherly Road made any conversation with my daughter impossible. She settled in for a nap. That was a good thing.

Before the first mile was over, I left Weatherly and began walking along Todd Mill Road. The thoroughfare fell farther behind me; the sounds in the trees accompanied me now. I startled a dozen chipmunks who were not expecting a perambulator to muss their leaf litter. Road slowly began to slope downward. My heartbeat settled, my head cooled. I walked in soothing shade that was brightened by smiles of sunlight.

The first mile took about 25 minutes. I checked my clock after I'd passed by Weatherly Elementary School where the sidewalk changed sides of the street. All things considered, I'd walked faster than I'd expected. 1:41 p.m. Onward.

The second mile moved along at a good clip. I got my wind, hit my stride. The sidewalk here was in better repair, more frequently used by families. It was not exactly level, but if it rose, it would then dip; if it leaned left, it would later list right. I was not fighting the stroller. I could lift my eyes and look ahead. A far aim does much to lengthen a stride. My heart was in a steady rhythm, and I did not feel tired. I looked around me, examining the yards of homes I so often zipped by in my car. The view ahead looked familiar, but to either side it seemed a different place entirely, to my delight. A feeling of contentment bubbled within me that a big smile only seemed natural. I faced south, soaking in the sun with my upturned face. Between a hedge and a post, I saw a spider filament shining in the sunlight, like it was some lost strand of magic. I ducked under it, for it seemed a shame to snap it, become entangled and lose it upon myself. The second mile seemed to fly. I spied Mountain Gap Road beyond the bend. I checked my clock. 2:01 p.m. About 20 minutes, what I'd hoped.

My daughter woke up, surprisingly, at the start of the third mile. She was disoriented. The surroundings were unfamiliar. She couldn't find her sunglasses. A momentary comfort and retrieval stop, and she improved. She also began to hog the water bottle. I was a bit sad that wooded part of our walk was almost over. The way wasn't much shorter or quicker than any other route, but I enjoyed driving this winding road with the over-arching trees. Walking this road was soothing. My daughter got animated as she began to recognize the landmarks on Mountain Gap Road. The traffic wasn't quite as heavy as on Weatherly, but I still couldn't hear her questions. I'd give a pat answer ("You know, that might be a possibility.") and she'd be satisfied. The walk up this road to our street wasn't long at all. I turned onto our street; I returned to the familiar. I knew with surety my pace and my step. By the time we passed our house, my clock read 2:18 p.m. About an hour for three miles.

Last mile would be to the school and back. I knew from experience that I'd arrive right about dismissal. If we walked, this would be the usual departure time. By now, I was feeling hot and thirsty. My feet were hot and sweaty. One of my toes was being rubbed by the sock. But I had to press on. I could do this. My daughter was tired of sitting and threaten to leap from the stroller any minute. Bargain: if you stay in the stroller to the school, you can leave the stroller on the walk home. Seated, for the time being. All I could think about was completing this walk. I crossed the last street as the dismissal bell rang. Our crossing guard smiled at the familiar sight of us heading to the school. If she only knew how far we'd come this time! We arrived at the front of the school before his class was released. I walked in place, because if I sat down, I wouldn't want to stand back up.

My son asked if I'd walked here. Oh, the agony and wailing to know he'd have to walk... all... the way... back home. Little dude. You only have to walk a half mile. By the time we get home, I will have walked four miles. How much further will I have walked than you? "Eight times." Right, so hush.

The last half mile. A new struggle. Wet concrete feet. Children who insisted on "helping" push the stroller. (thanks.) One who raced ahead and one who lagged behind, if they weren't irritating each other by walking on one another's feet. I began counting down how many houses to pass until we reached our own. At 2:52 pm.

A little more than an hour and a half. About 25 minutes a mile, including waits for traffic and kids. Not too shabby for an out-of-practice hausfrau. Yet cooling my heels in peace was not to be. "Mom! I want ice water!" (You, Mr. One-eighth??) "Mom! I'm hungry!" (Really, Miss Smooth-ride?)

Maybe I am crazy.

I'll prove I'm just a bit sane by going ALONE next time.