Walking’S Just Like Running, Except It’S Fun

Back in 1984, I wrote the following sentence in a column: “I’ll be a runner all my life, because it’s good for me and keeps my metabolism at high idle.”

I bring this up today to make the following crucial point: A person can change.

And not only that, but: A person can be completely full of bunk.

And also: A person can occasionally fail to take into account that phrases like “all my life” can in some cases mean a longer period than “all this week” or “through the end of next month,” and they should be more careful about committing themselves to anything longer than that, except possibly when it comes to season tickets or marriage. Also, one of the things that people change the most often is their minds, because who wants to be bound by some idiotic thing they said while in the grip of, for instance, an endorphin high induced from running around the school playground four times in a row? I bring up all of these points today because I would like to amend the above statement to: “I hope I never run again for the rest of my life.”

A person could take another valuable lesson from this, which would be: Never believe anything I say in my column. Except I want you to believe this, which comes from the bottom of my soul or possibly sole: I’m through with running and I am quite happy with this development.

What made me change my mind so drastically about running in the ensuing 15 years? This is a complicated question that strikes directly at issues of aging, physical deterioration and laziness.

One of the reasons I have changed my mind about running would have to be: running. I realized somewhere along the way that I hate it, and that it is no fun and that life is too short to spend it plodding miserably along in the drizzle, spitting and wheezing and generally looking like a person forced to double-time it down High Drive at gunpoint.

The other thing that made me change my mind in the ensuing 15 years is: 15 years. That’s how much older and more decrepit I am than when I wrote those fateful words at the tender age of 31. When you’re 31, it’s easy to imagine life ahead as one light and graceful jog into the sunset, complete with commemorative T-shirt. But when you’re 46, and your knees have entertained you with several different varieties of torn ligaments and unexplained swellings and your ankles have reminded you on numerous occasions that they don’t appreciate being pounded into the pavement 100 times per minute, then it is more difficult to recapture that heady pleasure of gliding lightly around the 10k course we call life.

Of course, many, many people my age and older continue to run with all evidence of enjoyment and success. My point is: They apparently don’t hate running as much as I do.

Nor are they as lazy as I am. Lately, I have been getting in touch with the lazy side of my personality, with quite enjoyable results. Where I once might have gone for an invigorating jog, now I am quite content to sit in front of the tube and watch Monday Night Football. And for those who have health foremost on their minds, I should point out that sitting on one’s butt is far easier on the joints than jogging.

Now, before I leave the impression that I have completely embraced the laziness lifestyle so beloved by millions of Americans, I must add that I have not abandoned movement of all kinds. When I decided about a year ago to end my already fitful jogging career, I replaced it with walking. This is one reason that I can say with confidence that I will never run again. I discovered that walking is just as good for me, almost as effective at keeping the metabolism at a high idle, and has the added advantage of not being torture.

In fact, I look forward to my walk. I know I won’t have to spit and wheeze and cough up unpleasant things. I can just stroll through the city and down into the woods, where the songs of the nuthatches won’t be drowned out by the deafening din of my heart, trying desperately to pump enough blood to keep my pain-wracked body alive until it can get me to the end of my run. I can wander down woodland paths and let my mind wander onto subjects that go beyond my usual jogging thoughts, which tended to run along two themes: (1) How much farther do I have to go? (2) Can I quit before that?

My walking thoughts can range from the existence of matter in the universe to the nature of good and evil, but mostly it runs along the lines of, “This is so much more fun than running.”

Which is why I now declare, publicly, that: I shall be a walker all my life, because it’s good for me and keeps me halfway fit, and this time I really mean it, probably.