Tag: exercise

Lazy Sunday CXCIII: Walks

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I watched my older brother finish the Myrtle Beach Marathon eight days ago, the second time he’d completed the race (he first ran it in 2016, and did the half-marathon for a number of years since then).  While waiting for him to cross the finish line, I witnessed runners of all backgrounds and experience levels finish the half- and full-marathons.

What I noticed was that the runners were not just the super athletic, ridiculously (even scarily) lean types like my brother, but included quite a few husky folks as well.  A tiny, fluffy, elderly Jewish lady finished the half-marathon.  Another runner was a man so fat, his back fat formed what looked like a second butt above his actual butt.

These examples shamed me into action.  If a woman with the dimensions of a bowling ball and a man with an upper butt could run thirteen-miles and change, why couldn’t I?

I don’t have any ambitions to run any marathon—full, half, quarter, etc.—but I have been rising early every morning since returning from the trip and jog-walking about a mile.  Each day I’m able to push my jogging/running distance a bit further, and reduce the amount of time I am walking.

Who knows if I’ll stick with this latest round of self-improvement in the long-run (just ask my dentist about my flossing habits), but I’d like to see it through and keep improving.  It is a good feeling coming back to coffee and breakfast covered in a healthy sheen of sweat.

So it is that I thought I’d look back at some past posts on walking this Lazy Sunday:

  • “Walkin’” (and “TBT: Walkin’“) – I made the mistake of starting a long walking regimen right before school started back—and back in the days before I woke up before 5 AM.
  • “Walkin’ II: Early Morning Strolls” – My neighbor and I spent the mornings three times a week walking and doing some light calisthenics.  It became difficult for both of us to maintain.  Ironically, I find it easier to do it without someone else.  I’m at that point in my life where, rather than the other person being a source of accountability, doing stuff with other people—even stuff I want to do—sometimes feels like a social obligation (in other words, a form of work) that I have to fulfill.
  • “Revisiting Walking Across South Carolina” – The ultimate dream.  It’s dangerous, impractical, and would probably be incredibly dull for long stretches, but I love the idea of traipsing across my State, walking stick in hand, and engaging in a Tolkien-esque journey of physical, mental, and spiritual growth.  Note:  I love the idea; the execution is a different matter.

Happy Sunday!

—TPP

Other Lazy Sunday Installments:

Revisiting Walking Across South Carolina

The Portly Politico17 Comments

A couple of years ago, I wrote a post entitled “Walkin’,” in which I detailed the pleasures of short walks around town.  In that post, I also mused about long-distance walking, and even about its popularity in the 1960s and 1970s.  One of my readers and subscribers even noted the construction of The Palmetto Trail, a five-hundred-mile trail that cuts diagonally from the Upstate (the northwestern corner of South Carolina) down to the Lowcountry (the southeastern side of our State’s triangle), of which roughly 380 miles are completed.  That trail wends through State parks and towns, offering a variety of landscapes and scenes.

In listening to John Taylor Gatto excessively over Spring Break (and nursing a bad foot-and-ankle sprain), he frequently mentioned stories about famous individuals who completed massive, almost absurd tasks, often with little training.  For example, he frequently told the story of a six-year old Richard Branson walking home in London after his mother drove him around for a few hours, and then asked, “Richard, do you think you can find your way home?”  When the child responded yes, the mother told him to get to it, booted him from the car, and drove home.  Branson (per Gatto) said that after that experience, he was never afraid of anything again, and could face any challenge.

I’m not advocating we drop six-year olds off in the middle of nowhere and make them walk home (my niece is six, and while she is brave and confident, I shudder to think what might become of her if my brother pulled the same stunt).  But there is a real need for adventure in our lives.  There’s also something to be said for the benefits of taking on and conquering—or even just attempting and failing—a large-scale undertaking.

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TBT: Walkin’

The Portly Politico24 Comments

The big “hit” piece (that is, the successful, well-liked post, not a piece attacking some famous personality) this week seems to have been my post about driving to and from Athens, Georgia.  In the spirit of forward motion and scenic trips, I thought I’d dust off this chestnut from 5 August 2020, right before the previous academic year began.

I’d just gotten into walking right before school resumed, and was hoping to get in a couple of miles every day.  That goal sure fell part quickly, and I realized I did not walk nearly as much as I thought I would at work.  It turns out that 10,000 steps a day is actually a lot of steps.

That said, I did manage to get in over 30,000 steps in a single day once in the past year:  when I spent an eighteen-hour day at Universal Studios.  Needless to say, I slept until nearly noon the next day.

But that outlier aside, I did not come close to achieving that dream.  When I dog-sat my girlfriend’s German Shepherd, we took some lengthy, sweaty walks.  I was hoping that Murphy and I would do the same, but the old girl doesn’t go much beyond the yard before she is ready to turn back for another round of water, snacks, and naps, so my dreams of long, energetic dog walks have been smashed on the arthritic knees of my ancient dog.

Or I’m just making a bunch of excuses for myself.  With that, here is 5 August 2020’s “Walkin’“:

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Adventures in Dog Walking

The Portly Politico10 Comments

Taking long, contemplative walks is one of life’s simple pleasures.  Doing so with a dog, I have discovered, is even more fun, even if it means carrying around a hot, steaming bag of poop part of the time.

For the past week, I’ve been dog sitting my girlfriend’s lovable German Shepherd, Lily.  Lily is nearly three-years old, and very well-trained (my girlfriend will tell you otherwise, but she did a good job with Lily).  For that reason, we have been walking a lot this past week.  Being somewhat inexperienced with dogs, anytime she starts nosing at the door and whimpering, we go for a walk, so we’re probably doing it way more than necessary.

Regardless, taking all these walks has afforded the pup and I several opportunities to see the town.  Walking a location, rather than zipping by in a car, gives the walker an intimate understanding of a place.  Lily has certainly left her mark—scatologically and otherwise—all over.

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Walkin’

The Portly Politico4 Comments

Yesterday morning, longtime Nebraska Energy Observer contributor Audre Myers shared a charming post, “Walking …“—a reflection of the late 1960s and Woodstock.  Regular commenter Scoop posted an achingly nostalgic response that sums up the significance of Woodstock to that cohort of early Boomers—it was the last incandescent burst of rock ‘n’ roll’s triumph before petering out in the 1970s (which, I would argue, is when hard rock got good).

The tug of nostalgia is a strong one.  I’m only thirty-five, and I already feel it from time to time.  Indeed, I’ve always been a sucker for nostalgia, which a psychologist might argue is one of the reasons I studied history.  Perhaps.  I also just enjoy learning trivia.

Regardless, Audre’s post caught my attention because I have been contemplating the literal, physical act of walking lately (although I often take metaphorical strolls down memory lane, too).  I’ve put on a bit of weight in The Age of The Virus, so I’ve taken up walking as a way to complement a regimen of calorie counting (which is more of a loose, back-of-the-envelope calorie guesstimate each day).

I’m trying to get in around two miles of focused walking a day, mostly around Lamar.  Although work commitments don’t always make that possible, I do find that simply going about my work results in around two miles of walking in aggregate.  I’m curious to see what my step totals will be once the school year resumes, and I’m dashing about between classes, pacing the rows of students, and striding across the boards as I teach.

I’m not a runner, by any means.  My older brother loves to run, and has the physique to show for it.  More power to him, but I know myself well enough to know it’s not something I want to do.  Runners swear oaths to running’s efficacy and delights, but gasping for breath in 100-degree weather with maximum humidity doesn’t appeal to me.  Walking at a brisk clip in that weather, though, is at least bearable—once I’ve embraced the stickiness and the sweat, I can go for a couple of miles easily, and sometimes three or four.

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