What I Talk About When I Talk About Walking

I love walking. Drop me anywhere on earth, point me in a direction, and I’ll start walking. And when I say walking, I don’t mean jogging, running, or sprinting, but the most relaxed form of movement: strolling. There was a time when my daily step count hovered in the one to two-digit range, but I’ve steadily raised that limit. Three digits became four, then four turned into five. Who knows, maybe five could even reach six, if that’s humanly possible. I now easily manage the completely arbitrary figure of ten thousand steps a day, originally recommended by a Japanese company for marketing purposes. These days, I average around twenty thousand steps.

My success is built on boredom, routine, and distraction. After all, I have nothing better to do, I only stick with things when I’m used to doing them, and I can only maintain something if my mind is occupied elsewhere. When I engage in real sports, like jogging, every single second feels like agony, and I secretly hope a confused hunter will mistake me for a deer and put me out of my misery. But when I walk, I’m surprised to find that I’ve been at it for two, three, sometimes four hours without even realizing it. I drift through towns, across fields, and along lakes, passing cars, people, and the tempting smells of cafés, boutiques, and kebab stands.

I repeat this routine every single day, like a robot. And it works. I enjoy the variety of my route. I know where I can rest, where I can get Wi-Fi, and where the toilets are along the way. This certainty is something that people like me, who might be mentally disturbed, need. While I’m here preaching the gospel of walking, I’m just trying to say that if you want more exercise in your life, find something that doesn’t bore or frustrate you. And now, I’ll slip into my worn-out sneakers, put on a five-hour podcast about the best Super Nintendo games, and head out into the world like Hänschen klein. If I do get hit by a bus, at least I’ll die doing something I love.