An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.
~Henry David Thoreau
I never liked exercising. If I could find a quiet place to sit and read all day, I was content. Exert myself? No way. I was a confirmed couch potato.
Then, when I began having marriage trouble, I felt inadequate and depressed. I was simply plodding through my days, putting one foot in front of the other, no longer enjoying anything — not even reading. I met a woman who worked at my husband’s business, Linda, who helped turn things around for me. She invited me to go for a walk after work. I liked her right away, so I said “yes.”
That was the beginning of a daily walking routine. It was also the beginning of a lasting friendship. While we walked, we talked. We shared our problems, fears, and hopes. We became each other’s parenting coaches and marriage counselors during those increasingly lengthier walks. Before long, we were managing five miles a day. Soon, my depression lifted, and I was able to laugh again.
During the years that followed, Linda and I walked in the heat of summer and in the freezing Michigan winters, even in the rain unless there was lightning. When one of us didn’t feel like exerting herself, the other one made her go. One time, at my insistence, we started our walk in a gentle mist. A few miles from home, it began raining harder, and then a downpour drenched us. When it began thundering, we ran into an apartment complex. Giggling over our audacity, we knocked on a stranger’s door. We must have looked pitiful, dripping from our hair to our soggy shoes. “Could we use your phone to call for a ride?” we asked.
Another time, we donned thermal underwear, heavy coats, boots, and gloves, and slogged over snow-covered side streets on new cross-country skis. We started down what appeared to be a small hill, but I lost control and whizzed down the incline. I landed flat on my back in a snow bank at the bottom. Carefully, Linda made her way to where I lay and reached down to help me up. In her attempt, she also lost her balance and fell on top of me. We lay in a heap, unhurt, but laughing so hard we couldn’t even attempt to get up for a quite a while.
We walked and talked through happy times and sad times. No matter what life obstacles we faced, walking helped us through them. When my marriage ended in divorce, we kept walking. When I began dating a wonderful man, we walked. When I remarried, I moved with him to Cincinnati, and our walking days ended, although the friendship continued long-distance.
While Rich was involved in an exciting new job, I was at home, too intimidated by the big city to venture far. My family and friends were hundreds of miles away, and I was lonely. Once again, I felt a budding depression. Although I was happy in my marriage, I missed the camaraderie of a nearby friend.
Rich and I were invited to a gathering of staff and spouses one day. Everyone was polite and friendly, but it was apparent that most of the women had well-established friendships with one another. I was an outsider.
I noticed a young woman standing alone on the fringe of the chattering groups. I wandered over and introduced myself. I discovered her husband was new on staff, and she’d recently moved to the area. “It’s hard moving and having to start fresh getting to know people,” Cheryl said.
I agreed wholeheartedly. Like me, she was missing her old life. After chatting a while and finding out she lived only a few miles from me, I asked, “Hey, would you like to meet at the park and walk together sometime?”
We began meeting to walk and talk several times a week. This was the beginning of a new friendship and the end of my loneliness.
I’m not sure if it was the walking or the talking that was most responsible for getting me through those tough times — probably both. I think exercise clears the mind and pushes out negative thinking, allowing positivity to enter. That, combined with having the right walking partner, can make a big difference in one’s life. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, it will result in a new friendship — just when it’s needed most.
— Diana L. Walters —