Walking is man’s best medicine.
~Hippocrates
My mother had always loved my father, even though they’d been divorced for decades and lived on different continents. So I was delighted when my father came from Eastern Europe to visit us in Dallas. I had my parents under one roof for the second or third time in my life that I could remember.
They got along beautifully except for one thing: I guess she couldn’t help it, but my mom would still bring up old grievances. So many years had passed since they were married that these grievances became almost comical.
“You never pushed the baby carriage.”
“You never went for a walk with me.”
Father looked at me and said, “Well, she’s too old for a baby carriage now, but let’s all go for a walk.”
My mom wasn’t ready for that answer.
“I can’t. I’m too old. I’m too tired.”
So I would go walking with my father instead.
We walked a couple of blocks on a residential street with no sidewalks at a nice, slow pace. When my father, who was in his late seventies, suggested we run, not walk, I thought, Fine. I’ll stop when I see him getting winded.
Was I surprised! It started out great at first. Then, halfway down the block, I realized he was beating me. I had a hard time catching my breath, but I was too embarrassed to let him know. Finally, I fizzled out, only to see him flying past me effortlessly. Wow! I was an aerobics instructor and dancer/athlete, but I couldn’t keep up with a man pushing 80.
When my father realized I was no longer jogging by his side, he turned around and ran back to me. We returned home where my mom had a couple of sweet rolls waiting for us. I passed.
I started thinking about our different lifestyles. Here was an Eastern European man who had spent his life walking. He had walked to work while employed; he walked to grocery stores and to meet friends. In his country, they walked everywhere. In America, we take our dogs for short strolls in the park, but mostly we are couch potatoes. When we go somewhere, we jump into our vehicles. Even if a 7-Eleven is a block away, we drive.
That first jaunt with my father changed my way of thinking about life, health and wellbeing. My way of life was going to lead me to an early old age, poor health and a diminished quality of life. Did I want to end up like my mother, who only walked from her room to the refrigerator and back each day?
While he remained in the U.S., my father and I made it a point to walk and eventually jog daily. Not only did I lose weight, but I felt stronger, healthier and happier.
Meanwhile, my mother was contacted by her surgeon. She had an aneurysm and needed surgery as soon as possible.
“But,” the doctor said, “you are not in great condition. You have very little muscle tone, and you’re weak. I won’t let you have surgery in this condition. You must build up your strength. Start by walking.”
Needless to say, that scared me. I hadn’t realized how inertia had weakened her. I had tried to get her to walk with me before, but now her life almost depended on it.
My father took the matter into his own hands.
“Florencka,” he sweet-talked. “You say I never went for walks with you. Let’s start now.”
Fortunately, his charm still worked on her. She grumbled and complained, but she made an effort for him. She put on her comfortable clothing, and the three of us hit the street.
It wasn’t easy. We’d go half a block and then she’d stop and say, “I can’t.” I could see she wasn’t faking. She was out of breath after a few steps. She was too weak.
Cautiously at first, we took it at her pace.
“Let’s go see those beautiful flowers at that big house over there,” my father suggested.
“Oh, no. I can’t,” my mother replied. We ended up walking halfway to that house.
The next day, my father urged a little more.
“Let me make up for the walks I never took with you.” This time, we made it to the house with the flowers.
We never pushed my mother to exhaustion, but we did encourage her to try a little harder each day.
I laughed after a couple of weeks of walking when we three met at the kitchen table, my father and I ready for breakfast. My mother walked in, all showered and dressed, and expressed cheerfully, “Let’s go for a walk first and eat later.”
My father started to protest, “But can’t we have a bite to eat first?”
My mother gave him a look and her age-old complaint. “See, you never want to walk with me,” she said, smiling.
Without a word, my father got up, and we three went for an early stroll.
A couple of weeks went by, and at a return visit to her doctor, my mother was given the news that she was ready for surgery. There had been a noticeable improvement in her strength, blood pressure and endurance. Leaving the office, the nurse said to us, “By the way, both of you are looking better. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
Thankfully, my mother’s surgery was successful. My father stayed to see how she would do, which I’m sure aided in her recovery. When he returned to Europe, we three kept in touch by mail.
My mother would write: “Thank you for taking walks with me — finally.”
After my father’s visit and my mother’s improved health, I decided I would take better care of myself. I realized I didn’t want to end up getting old, tired and weak before my time. Now some 20 years later, I still walk, run and/or take fitness classes several times a week, improving my health and my mind-set. I find there’s nothing more stress-relieving than physical activity.
As I grow older, I never want to become a burden to anyone. I want to be able to take care of myself. So I will continue doing what has kept me so healthy and feeling good as long as I am able to. I walk to clear my mind. I walk to think. Walking lifts my spirits. I’m happier after a walk. My energy levels go up, and my stress levels go down. Lethargy, fatigue and boredom are greatly reduced by walking and running.
I will always be grateful to my father for finally walking with my mother, helping to get her into shape for her surgery so she could no longer chide him by saying, “You never walk with me.”
And although he hadn’t always been a presence in my life, he did instill in me something valuable — the desire to walk for health and life.
So I forgave him for never pushing me in my baby carriage.
— Eva Carter —