I walk a lot. My phone tells me that on my least active weeks, I average four to six miles per day and on my more active weeks, I average between eight and ten miles per day. I take walks because I can, because I enjoy them, to clear my head, and to get things done. Almost any errand I might need to run is within a ten to fifteen minute walk from my apartment – so I walk everywhere. My grocery store is a ten minute walk (I go two to three times a week). The bank where I make deposits for work is under ten minutes. My local pub is half a block past the Bank. The Philly cheesesteak shop – 500 feet around the corner. The auto repair shop is a block and a half away. My barber, maybe a 12 minute walk. Even things like the Doctor’s office, concert venues, or my work are all within an hour’s walk. With temperatures consistently in the 60s and lots of sunshine, I think nothing of walking an hour to get to where I’m going.
I walked a lot as a kid. For my entire life up until a few years ago, I attended Penn State football games. For many years, we would park downtown, walk around a bit, and then walk the mile and a half to the game and then the mile and a half back. In elementary school, we lived too close to be bussed. We were the walkers and every day at the end of the day, for five years, I waited for our dismissal announcement: “walkers hit the bricks.” My schools for both middle and high school were further away, but on nice days or days when we wanted to goof off on the way home, my friends and I would walk – stopping at the 7-11 or at the putt putt mini golf. Later, because neither of us drove, I would walk to and from my girlfriend’s house (a little over a mile and a half away). In college, I started walking in the woods (otherwise known as hiking). It’s an activity which, with varying degrees of frequency and fidelity, I’ve continued to do through the present moment. Some years, there were lots of hikes, and some years, not so many. Now, I live across the Bay from some gorgeous hikes and I go frequently.
When I was married and living in the suburbs with considerably less time and substantially more responsibilities (kid, demanding white-collar job, house to maintain, lawn to mow), I walked less – though we would go on the occasional hike, or walk along the canal path into town. When I was working in New York City, I got into the habit of taking hour-long walks on my lunch break. And when I dated someone who had a dog and lived in Philadelphia, I picked up the habit of daily walks – we walked the dog together almost every evening. When we broke up, I kept the habit – first in my neighborhood in Pennsylvania, then when I moved away, along the Mississippi River in Memphis, TN, and then again when I had my own dog and lived in the inhospitable tundra that is central Pennsylvania.
Walking, for me, is the equivalent of driving for most other people – which means it comes with its own form of road rage, or sidewalk rage. My list of walking pet peeves has grown over the last few years, and these past few weeks, the pet part of the pet peeve has been the size of a large pit bull with an uncompromising vice-like grip on my attitude. My evening walks (a little over two miles every day after dinner) used to put me in a good mood or a contemplative mood. Now, they have a tendency to piss me off.
The less-than-comprehensive list of things that tick me off includes:
Door-dash drivers on their mopeds (they blow stop signs, drive up on the sidewalks, turn against the walk signals, and generally show little regard for pedestrians); groups of people walking side by side who refuse to make room for others (mainly me); slow walkers (also usually walking side by side making it difficult to pass); people who walk crookedly, slowly, and at an inconsistent pace because they’re preoccupied with their phone; people who almost run into me (also because they’re preoccupied with their phone); people walking dogs on long leashes that take up the entire sidewalk; people who stop to chat at the narrowest point of the sidewalk (cafe tables on one side, tree on other, and room enough for maybe two people to pass seems to be the optimal spot for a chat – I sometimes think choosing such a choke point might be a form of protection rooted in our primal brains); drivers who are making a right turn but don’t look to their right to see if there are pedestrians about to cross; large groups of obnoxious kids shoving each other; large groups of drunk and obnoxious adults shoving each other (usually bros); that person with a baby stroller and a dog who is staring at their phone; that person and their spouse (both of whom are staring at their phones) with the double baby stroller and two dogs; the parents dining outside while their kids chase each other on the crowded sidewalk or the ones walking said crowded sidewalk with little ones uneasily and crookedly riding scooters head-on towards other pedestrians; and basically anyone and everyone who is clueless about their surroundings in semi-crowded spaces.
Walk two miles every day and you’ll encounter a lot of people who are seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. Typically, I’ll encounter between three and ten of the above annoyances on my evening walk – and once I encounter one, my mind is prepped to notice all of the others. Everyone’s an idiot and in my way… At least once on every city walk, I have to remind myself that I’m in their way too or that this is just how city life is – crowded with people stuck in their own pocket-sized world. This is also when I have some of my more fraught internal debates about feeling superior because these rubes are glued to their phone while I’m enlightened and more present in the world.
Sometimes, when I feel myself leaning into the crankiness, I’ll remind myself to look at all of the people behaving normally – the ones who make space or are mindful of others. Sometimes, when I feel myself leaning into the crankiness, I remind myself that this is a choice I’ve made. I could walk less crowded streets or at less crowded times of the day. I choose the crowded streets to see all the people enjoying themselves out at the restaurants and bars. I choose dinner-time because they say walking after a meal helps with digestion. If I want fewer frustrations, I could make different choices.
Being in a walkable city was a factor in choosing where I would live. It’s one of the reasons I chose San Francisco over San Diego, and the weather here makes it walkable almost every day of the year (unlike winters on the east coast). It’s also one of the things that keeps me here. I’m not sure I would ever want to go back to suburban life where you have to drive everywhere – or if I did, I would really want to have a park or wilderness or a body of water within walking distance. I also know there may come a time (hopefully far away in the future) when my body won’t work as well as it does now and walking may prove to be challenging or painful or unappealing. Until then, I’ll continue to look for excuses to get out and walk… I’ll continue to issue my own daily dismissal announcement: “walkers hit the bricks.”