The truth about walking is that, whether you walk apace or slowly, it’s good for what ails you and can include all of the following and more according to The many benefits of walking:
- reduces the risk of dying from heart disease;
- reduces the risk of developing colon cancer;
- reduces the risk of developing diabetes;
- helps control weight;
- helps develop muscle;
- helps reduce body fat.
The same article goes on to state: “Walking and other forms of exercise can help lower blood pressure and maintain healthy bones, muscles and joints. It also can have psychological benefits by curbing anxiety and depression symptoms, improving mood and fostering a sense of well-being.” A program of sufficient physical exercise should include “150 minutes of brisk walking a week.”
Of course, we all know that walking is beneficial even if we haven’t committed the above points to memory. The problem is that it’s like sex, everybody talks about it but nobody wants to do anything about it. Okay … it’s not like sex, but I always appreciate my sense of humor even if I’m the only one … on two continents as it turns out (the other continents having yet to feel the need of the cooling comfort or whatever it is that this hot, ole AC can provide).
With all that good stuff in mind, I decided that come the New Year, I would make a real effort to do better — which for me means walking to the mailbox instead of driving the 50 yards.
Really though, I truly decided to do better. So come January 4th when it was time to settle into the routine, ole AC headed out — full and vim, vigor and … well … lets leave it at vim and vigor … no … let’s be even more truthful and just say he went out for an early morning stroll. Yup. Let’s leave it at that.
It was quite a nice morning. After a week of no snow, we had been gifted with a pretty, fresh blanket overnight. AC
marched sauntered happily along.
Partway up the block, however, didn’t I slip? The trouble is that you can’t see patches of ice under the snow (or if you can, I sure can’t, and if you can please tell me your secret). But I didn’t fall — injured my pride more than anything — so I trundled on. I shouldn’t have, but they say there’s no fool like an old fool. So I kept walking, and even more stupidly continued into the local park by the river.
Where I soon hit another hidden patch of ice. Big patch.
Kerplunk! Ooh, right down on my right shoulder I went. That hurt a bit.
Before I could get off that patch, I slipped rather badly twice more. I was not having much fun by then, twisting and extending this limb and then that one. To say nothing of my poor back.
I finally got off the path and its ice patch and cut across the field. And headed up the inclined pathway out of the park. Where my feet hit another icy patch, and I again slipped rather precariously. Once again I didn’t fall, but I might as well have because it sure felt like one pull too many on lower ligaments … aka legs.
The next morning found me with a very sore shoulder, a stiff neck, and a knee that could barely take mine self up and down the precious stairs, which we have in abundance.
As I have said to a few others on email, there was a time — about 50 years ago — when I could play tackle football and not be the worse for wear after being driven to the ground any number of times. Fifty years, one tumble, and four slips later, I was a wreck.
Needless to say my walking plan was derailed for a few days whilst ye olde bod tried its durndest to heal and recover. But I’ll have you know that I’m back at it. I am staying out of the park, however, and walking on the [sometimes] salted and/or sanded road when I hae me doots over the condition of the sidewalk.
What can you do? You can’t really hibernate for four months. Ya just gotta get with the program. It’s good for you. Or so they they — they who haven’t trod upon hidden ice lately.