I walk every day. Almost. Sometimes I just don’t feel like it—but my dog always does. And we have an agreement, of sorts. A walk a day, at least 60 minutes long. Two routes for variety, one is in the deep woods, winding through backtrails. The other is woods, but with an asphalt walk, kind of “paved woods.”
Yes, that sounds like an oxymoron. Paved woods? They’re not contradictory in theory, but it feels wrong in practice. Still, that’s what they are. The dog still gets to chase squirrels, and I get solid footing instead of dodging tree roots and slipping on mud. We both win.
Why Walk? Why Every Day?
It’s on my list. Literally. I keep a list of things to do every day. Partly so I know what I need to get done, partly so I can cross them off. That simple act brings both physical and mental reward. Walks are an obligation to myself, and to my dog. We both hold each other accountable.
The Woods Are the Reward
The backtrails and deep woods are a different world. They’re mentally engaging in a way the paved paths aren't. Rocks to navigate, streams to cross, fallen trees to climb around. And always the quiet - broken by the sounds of a bird, the gallop of a deer, my dog bolting after some animal or another.
You can watch the woods. They don't move, so it's easy. Old stone walls, still standing from 150 years ago when they marked off fields or kept cows contained. Streams, ponds, even the occasional waterfall. The way sunlight filters through the leaves, casting moving artwork on the ground - it's stunning.
The dog chases squirrels and chipmunks. Someone once asked me what she does when she catches one. I told them I’d let them know.
The Walk Within the Walk
Mostly, these walks are about clarity. I don't always think while walking—but I do let thoughts come. The good ones stick. I email those to myself so I don't forget. Can’t trust memory anymore. Technology finds its way into even the most peaceful woods.
And maybe the best part: the time I get to spend with myself. Real time. Honest time. You can’t lie to yourself so you get real answers. No distractions, no noise, no B.S. That’s what makes me a better companion - to myself and to others.
The Loop Matters
I usually leave from my front door, no driving to a trailhead. That way, the walk includes the walk to the walk. I like a loop if I can make it work: time, distance, and steps all wrapped into a satisfying circuit. No backtracking, just forward motion.
And these walks? They’re free. All that serenity, all that space to think, all for the price of leaving the house.
Not Going Anywhere, And That’s the Point
In the end, the beauty of the walk is in the walking itself. You're not headed to a destination. You’re just going. There and back again. That’s the whole commitment.
This is country walking. City walking has its own rhythm, its own rewards. But that’s a different story—for another time.
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