Andy Young: The pros and cons of a healthy walk

By Andy Young

Assuming nothing’s falling from the sky and the temperature is somewhere between 20 degrees and 80 degrees Fahrenheit, nothing is more invigorating than taking a brisk walk.

Few easily performable acts nourish the soul more thoroughly than hiking, striding, moseying, or, for thesaurus junkies, perambulating or locomoting. And that’s regardless of whether the hike, mosey, amble, trudge, perambulation or locomotion is done alone or with company.

Rural lanes, city streets, open fields, sylvan forests or, in case of foul weather, indoor shopping malls, are all fine places for a healthy jaunt. Walking is particularly beneficial for those of us who formerly enjoyed running but currently hesitate to do so on account of a replacement hip or knee joint. It’s also advisable when the surgeon who installed said prosthetic joint has threatened to slay any former patient who attempts to go jogging or heaven forbid, running, and thus put his handiwork at risk.

I’ve long since decided, for a variety of reasons, that going for a walk is preferable to running, particularly since it’s getting harder to find disguises that would fool my potentially homicidal doctor. That’s why, on a recent bright sunshiny, not-too-chilly, not-too-windy Saturday, I decided to treat myself to a hearty stroll. I was in an area encompassing sidewalks, residential areas, a business district, and even a glimpse of the ocean. What could be better?

Since I was by myself, I was a little more observant of my surroundings than usual, which meant I couldn’t help noticing a significant amount of randomly strewn detritus along my chosen route. Apparently those responsible for it had decided they couldn’t be bothered to find a trash can for their gum wrappers, energy drink containers, fast-food packaging and/or cigarette butts, and had opted to heedlessly discard them instead. This sort of totally avoidable blight briefly made my blood pressure rise, but then, reminding myself that the cretins responsible for these miniature eyesores probably make up less than one percent of our local population, I calmly soldiered on.

A few blocks later I came to a crosswalk on a heavily traveled street. Making eye contact with the oncoming motorist, I gave a wave of acknowledgement. Then, to show my respect and gratitude, I quickened my pace, though not into an all-out jog, just in case the driver was my hip doctor. I then resumed my leisurely stroll, satisfied I had shown appropriate courtesy to someone who’d routinely done the same for me.

Approaching another crosswalk moments later, I observed two cars that had stopped for a youthful pedestrian. However, not only did the street-crosser (“streetwalker” didn’t sound right) not acknowledge the drivers who had paused for her, she slowed her already snail-like saunter to a shuffle, her body language suggesting she’d have flipped both drivers the bird if only it didn’t require so much energy to do so.

Shortly after that I arrived at a busier section of town, passing a place of business where seven SUV’s, three trucks, and three cars, all with engines running, were waiting in line to pick up overpriced, over-caffeinated, sugar-laden drinks that were most likely going to be served in containers that take 500 years to decompose. I’m not sure which irritated me more: watching that exhaust-belching line of vehicles inch forward every 90 seconds or so or breathing in the foul hydrocarbons they were discharging. I couldn’t help wondering how many folks inside those vehicles waiting for their fixes proudly describe themselves as environmentalists.

I don’t know the precise age someone has to be to officially qualify as a curmudgeon, but I think I’m closing in on it. <