Walk, Don't Run

I tried jogging in my twenties and didn’t like it.  I always wanted to go faster than my body allowed, which left me with two alternatives, biking and driving.  Foot-wise, I always found walking to be more enjoyable.

My one brother-in-law, a podiatrist, would’ve tied me to a chair to keep me from jogging; ditto for his niece, Clare.  There are all sorts of knee and foot problems he’s more than happy to tell you about.  Another brother-in-law is a testament to his warnings, all sorts of knee and hip problems.  What nobody talks about is how addictive the whole thing is, how runners know the toll being taken on their bodies and doing it anyhow.  Thanks, but no thanks.

Over the years, I’ve hiked and walked for distance.  I did 30 miles one day in the Rockies and close to that another time on the streets of Chicago.  So, my addiction must kick in at a slower pace.  I guess it’s a tortoise-and-hare thing.  Really, what did the rabbit see trying to power ahead?  Are marathoners aware of anything beyond what’s three feet ahead of them?  I doubt it.  I go slow.  I don’t even look for a race to finish.  But I get there.