Simplicity

Simplicity  That Just   

Might Bring a Sense of Well-being

Monday afternoon was cold and bleak.  I decided to take a long brisk walk; I’d miss my daily walks for maybe the 10^th time in a row, so I was determined to make this walk count.  Swaddled in my windproof gear,  I felt tired and heavy and cold and even the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other demanded an effort, but I walked on.

Though I’d left without a destination in mind, I turned toward town.  There is only one way to get to downtown Manteo and that street was busier than usual.   I pulled my hat way down on my head obscuring some of my vision but I could still hear my ragged breathing and the howling wind.    

I was in a rut.  Maybe it was the winter weather, or the hours of being inside, or the medical issues I am struggling with, or the way my grey corduroys felt so damn tight around my waist when I put them on this morning. 

It was Monday afternoon.  That morning I had read another very sad report in the NYT about the children killed in that horrific shooting in Newtown, Connecticut.  Thirty years ago I lived in Connecticut.  I felt a grief that was at once distant and personal and exhausting.

Almost in town,  I was wearing out.  The walk isn’t difficult – the path is straight and flat but I hadn’t REALLY exercised since I started the chronic coughing and  breathing difficulties and the town is 2.5 miles away so even if I didn’t have breathing problems and wasn’t tired, and in a bit of a funk, at the pace I was moving, my breathing would still be ragged.  It turns out, however, that this exercise felt bad and good all at once.  I felt like a haze was lifting and there was something like a smile inside. 

When we lived in Erie, I belonged to a health club and did spin 3,4, sometimes 5 times a week.  I worked out with a trainer 3 times a week.  Exercising helped me claw out of every rut I have experienced in the past 30 years.  The rhythm of peddling on the bike helped me think straight.  The camaraderie of the group anchored me.  I found balance and community and peace and purpose and self-confidence on the spin bike.  I was able to stay in the saddle for as much of the class as I wanted but there were times when the music was so loud and the instructor would shout to crank it up that I would have to stand and push through the cycle.  The gym was no place to worry about appearances.  Sweat rolled down my body and puddled on the floor. 

That Monday afternoon walk was turning out to be relaxing.  I decided to walk beyond downtown and followed the path out of town for about another half mile.  When I did turn around I noticed I had the wind at my back.  It was around 4 pm and there was clarity to the light that you only see on cold winter days.  (It was common in New England but not here.)  Nothing was different but I felt a change.  I was ready for my brisk walk home; I pushed my hat back on my head so I could see and I knew I would enjoy the scenery.