I read a really great post about ‘house walking’ by Fundy Blue over at another favourite blog: Standing Into Danger. In it she mentioned walking around your home when the weather doesn’t permit you to do it outside; something that is typical during a Canadian winter. After all, it takes only a few minutes for exposed skin to become frostbitten if the temperature is below -7°C (20°F), which is a temperature that most of us up here in the Great White North don’t even consider that cold.
Crazy Hardy bunch that we are.
In any case, let’s just say that there are days where taking a lovely stroll outside isn’t really an option. And for someone like me who loves to walk, this can be quite frustrating. So alternatives are a must. Like walking around the house. Or finding a suitable location indoors. A mall. A department store. Whatever. And walking around. Back and forth. Up and down the stairs. From room to room, or store to store. Anything that will have me moving. Exercising my legs. Body. Even mind.
My passion for walking has been a part of me my whole life. It’s something that I shared, possibly inherited, from my father. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who enjoyed walking as much as he did. And he did it daily. Miles and miles worth. In his entire lifetime, it’s possible that he circled the earth a few times. In fact, it’s probably likely. And it showed. He was physically strong. His legs were muscular; more so than mine have ever been. Or ever will be. Even at 77, the age he passed away, he had rock hard calves. Whenever we walked together, despite the fact that he was 36 years older than me, there were times that I struggled to keep up with his swift pace. And he’d lovingly tease me about it, of course.
My father was the one that introduced the love of walking to me. When I was two. My mother thought I might be too young for extensive walks. But not my father. According to him, as long as I was able to keep my balance and move forward, I was ready to tag along with him on some of his beloved strolls. Turned out he was right. He took me along, now and then, and we walked for blocks, side by side. I never tired during any of these gratifying journeys we shared, and not once did I ask to be picked up and carried along. I was determined. And his heart swelled with pride.
We shared many moments like that during my childhood, my father and I. Moments that I cherish. Moments that come to mind when I’m out strolling along. Walking is something that I associate with my father and my childhood; simple, beautiful times we spent together. Whenever I think about those precious periods we shared, which occurred many times throughout my early years, it always puts a smile on my face.
What I wouldn’t give for just one more stroll with him...