The Joy of Walking (Part 2)

Taking a walk is relaxing. Walking around my neighborhood as fast as I can for an hour is not. It is boring. After about a half mile I’m thinking, “How much longer?” So my iPod accompanies me. Sometimes I listen to Nanci Griffith, Billy Joel, or Willie Nelson. Sometimes it is Andrew Peterson, Derek Webb, or Robbie Seay. Sometimes it is a playlist of favorites. Early on I listened to the marching cadence of the Army Rangers, while Taylor was off at Ranger School. I have listened to several audio books (I just finished David McCollough’s 1776 and am now listening to his biography of John Adams.) I listen to Garrison Keillor’s Lake Woebegone podcast each week and Dave Ramsey’s podcast when I remember to download it. All that helps with the boredom.

I have treated the walking through my neighborhood as a prayer walk on occasion. Sometimes I have left the iPod at home to walk and think or to burn off anger and frustration.

For now walking is part of my life. I still don’t like it. It is boring and time consuming. Yes, I feel better physically and emotionally. The walking helps. I have lost about fifteen pounds and my endurance is improved. Along with more careful eating, the walking helped me drop 50 points off my cholesterol. I like the clean, fresh feeling that I sense in my lungs about three miles into the routine. But I still don’t like the exercise. So I have to talk myself into staying the course.

Here are a few of my self-talk, motivational thoughts to keep my practice in place:

• I think of my son in Afghanistan, the rigors of his training and the demands of his days and determine that the discipline of walking four miles is nothing compared to that. And I walk.
• I think of the farm and my desire to be strong enough and healthy enough to do all I want to do there, and I walk.
• I think of my granddaughters and my longing to be actively involved in their lives, and I walk.
• I think of preaching three times each Sunday morning and the endurance I need for that. And I walk.
• I think of friends I have who for physical reasons cannot walk. I remember my blessings, and I walk.
• I think of growing old with my wife and wanting to be around as long as possible to enjoy that. And I walk.
  

Walking, despite my disdain for the necessity of having to do it, has produced a kind of gratitude in me. I’m grateful for health and legs and feet and lungs and eyes and ears. I’m grateful for the safety of my neighborhood where I walk. I am grateful for the sacrifice of soldiers, like Taylor, and am reminded of that as I pass house after house flying American flags. I’m grateful for children and grandchildren. I’m grateful for my wife and the almost 35 years we’ve shared. I’m grateful for the ministry I’m allowed to share.

Excuse me, I need to go walk.