Alexandersmap

    Category: Walking

    • Raising the Average

      “If you have the aspiration of kicking ass when you’re 85, you can’t afford to be average when you’re 50.” — Peter Attia

      A while back I committed to doing a fundraiser to fund research grants for children’s cancer. I more than doubled the amount of miles I would do compared to last year, when I walked 100% of the miles. The logic was that by combining walking with higher return on time investment workouts like rowing and cycling I should be able to do much more than I did simply walking. But there was a secondary motivation for ramping up the mileage: habit reformation. I’d simply gotten out of the habit of doing some workouts I love to do but aren’t as easy as simply walking. But we’re in it for the long haul, aren’t we?

      We’re all going to decline both physically and mentally over time. I’ve seen too many people I know slide in one or both ways over the last few years, and it’s a reminder that time is coming for us too. If the goal is to live a vibrant, healthy life for as long as possible before we decline, like Attia’s ass-kicking 85 year-old, then we’d best build a strong foundation now, whatever age we’re currently at. A walk is better than sitting, but a diverse fitness routine is better still. Queue the fundraiser as catalyst for lifestyle change.

      Time is the enemy of all of us. If we’re going to be productive in ways other than exercise, we can’t afford the time to be working out constantly. At least that’s what that other voice keeps telling us when we’re deciding between working out or making coffee first thing in the morning. We can do it tomorrow is the biggest lie we tell ourselves. The reality is that we get more energy when we move more, which makes us feel more productive than we’d have been otherwise. It’s 8 AM and I’ve completed a 13 mile ride, a swim, showered and fed the pup and I’m about to click publish on this blog post. We nurture and increase possibility in doing more with the time we have.

      Now extend that lifestyle out to the end of our days. Imagine what else if possible if we simply use our available time in more productive and exhilarating ways. A bit of ass-kicking today can build a future well above the average.

    • A Visit to Red Rock Canyon

      The region I live in was experiencing a total eclipse on April 8th. I was in Las Vegas, Nevada with an opportunity to see a partial eclipse. I might have been chagrined by this at another time in my life, but now? Amor fati friends. I watched the eclipse I had before me and made the most of the place and time I had available and visited Red Rock Canyon.

      Red Rock Canyon more than lives up to its name, but red is just one of the many colors in this desert environment. Calico might have been a better choice, and one section of the scenic drive does have that name. It’s a stunning departure from the ugliest parts of humanity you might find elsewhere in the city.

      The scenic drive is a one-way, 13 mile loop winding through the canyon. The one-way nature of it is a blessing as drivers are distracted enough already by the scenery without having to worry about cars coming at them head-on. But it does mean you should take the time to stop at every point of interest for there’s no going back.

      A drive is nice, but I was here to hike. There is a nice network of trails throughout the area, but we spent the bulk of our time at Calico Hills scrambling and hiking amongst the massive sandstone formations. It was similar to Joshua Tree National Park in many ways, without the scale of that place, but more than making up for it with convenient proximity to Las Vegas.

      The region is very popular with rock climbers and we watched dozens of them climbing the cliffs on our hike. Like gambling, rock climbing is not my game, but I can appreciate the skills of those who pursue it. Hiking and scrambling are enough for me, and in a place this beautiful this close to the Vegas Strip, I found the experience both exhilarating and immensely enjoyable.

    • A Walk a Day

      “Walking five miles a day or more provides the type of low-intensity exercise that yields all the cardiovascular benefits you might expect, but it also has a positive effect on muscles and bones – without the joint-pounding damage caused by running marathons or triathlons.” ― Dan Buettner, The Blue Zones: Lessons for Living Longer From the People Who’ve Lived the Longest

      Last summer I had a goal to walk 200 miles for a charity and found the time simply by getting up early and getting out there. Nowadays I’m not walking for a charity (perhaps I should) but I’m walking for life. Initially I recruited the pup, but she’s flipped that script around and now recruits me. She’s quickly learned just the right look to give me to get me off the chair and out the door, where she may survey the neighborhood and remind the rabbits and squirrels that she’s the queen of the cul du sac. She’s more of a runner, this pup, and I can tell she’d rather leave the slow guy behind. But a walk is better than a snooze any day.

      Walking five miles is time-consuming, so most people simply won’t take the time. I often won’t take the time either, but I’ve learned that a bit of multitasking helps to get the wheels in motion. As with any habit, once you’ve got a bit of momentum the routine takes hold. I may not be running marathons, but I can walk the length of one in a week. In this way, those walks add up to something substantial. As a bonus, it does both the body and mind a lot of good.

      When we say that we don’t have the time to walk, we’re really just prioritizing something else. When we think of the brevity of this lifetime, just what is so important that we must rush through it? Besides, that walk a day just might extend our lifespan, and more importantly, a healthy and vibrant years. Isn’t that worth a daily investment? So lace up and get out there, for there’s no time to waste.

    • A Walk on Plum Island Beach

      There are different ways to walk a beach. Some walks are meditative, some are merely workouts, and some are clearly meant for people-watching. The reasons why we walk lead us eventually to where and when. Each beach offers a new lens through which we may see the world and ourselves.

      My bride is a beach bunny at heart, and it turns out our pup is too. We’ve been taking her to a local New Hampshire beach for long walks and she’s grown more courageous with each bold step. She’s no water dog and won’t plunge in like our Labrador retriever would, but she’ll delightfully chase waves and bite at the sea foam. Her joy is ours, and walks on the beach have become a more frequent way of getting her away from the permanent mud season of never-winter-as-it-once-was that is our new reality.

      If Hampton Beach is a long, flat walk on firm sand, Plum Island Beach offers an experience more like Cape Cod National Seashore: soft dune sand plunging steeply in places to the ocean breakers. The dunes aren’t nearly as tall as Cape Cod, but the walk can be just as wonderful. On one end is the turbulent mouth of the Merrimack River, on the other are the dunes and swirling sandbars of Plum Island State Park reaching out into Ipswich Bay. In between are rows of homes ranging from beach shacks to McMansion: beach edition luxury homes. As with everywhere exclusive, money determines the future state of the real estate here. But Mother Nature has a say too.

      Plum Island is not an easy place to walk nor an easy place to live compared to other beaches in the area. Just as wealthy homeowners in the Hamptons on Long Island struggle with beach erosion and the fickle protectiveness of sand dunes, the people who dare to build homes on Plum Island face the same challenges. One day you’re living in paradise, the next you’re living through a nightmare of storm surge and wave action. It’s an audacious act to live in such places, emphasized with insurance rates that discourage the casual investor. It takes disposable income to have such homes in such places as this.

      Plum Island State Park prohibits dogs, so a walk to the end with the pup was out of the question, but there was plenty of beach available for our power trio. Walking towards the Merrimack River, we met a couple walking three dogs of their own. As soon as they said their dog’s name I knew it was a locally-famous author but kept it to myself. We all seek out the beach for our own reasons, and often it’s to get away from who we are further inland. We had a small reunion on the return and went our separate ways.

      Every beach has its own story to tell, just as each beach walker does. I wonder sometimes why we aren’t walking more beaches, and promised myself to add beaches to the collection of mountain summits, waterfalls and historic sites I’m collecting on my life experience list. The time bucket for such activity is now, isn’t it? We must venture out while we’re blessed with good health and a desire to do something with it. Perhaps we’ll see you out there too?

    • Processing Time

      “Wash the dishes relaxingly, as though each bowl is an object of contemplation. Consider each bowl as sacred. Follow your breath to prevent your mind from straying. Do not try to hurry to get the job over with. Consider washing the dishes the most important thing in life. Washing the dishes is meditation. If you cannot wash the dishes in mindfulness, neither can you meditate while sitting in silence.” — Thich Nhat Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness: A Manual on Meditation

      The writing of the blog post started late this morning, with fresh snow to clear from the driveway a priority, and a relatively subdued morning to follow. The words will come, as they always do, and they’re often better for having changed up the routine. I know I was the better for having done a small bit of exercise in the cold air with a pink and orange kaleidoscope of dancing clouds greeting me through the bare trees.

      The driveway and I have an understanding. If the snow is heavy and wet and more than two inches, I use the snowblower. If light and fluffy and less than four inches, I alway shovel. All other conditions fall somewhere in between, but I default to the shovel when it’s a reasonable ask of myself. I do this because so little in our lives is analog or manual anymore. We’ve got engines and batteries and computers for everything nowadays. These things do the work for us, but rob us of time to process anything in our minds. How many drive to the gym to walk on a treadmill, watching the screen in front of them take them to another place? How does that stir the imagination? I have a friend who walks through the woods to work every day and consider him the luckiest commuter I know.

      We must design a lifestyle that allows us to contemplate things, and to dream and discover things about the world and ourselves. There must be time in our daily lives for us to reflect on the world and our place in it, or we will remain nothing but distracted souls like all the rest. That’s not us, friend. Carve out and protect that processing time. As a bonus, we’ll be greeted with a job well done and a wee bit more clarity.

    • Let Us Play

      “Health lies in action, and so it graces youth. To be busy is the secret of grace, and half the secret of content. Let us ask the gods not for possessions, but for things to do; happiness is in making things rather than in consuming them. In Utopia, said Thoreau, each would build his own home; and then song would come back to the heart of man, as it comes to the bird when it builds its nest. If we cannot build our homes, we can at least walk and throw and run; and we should never be so old as merely to watch games instead of playing them. Let us play is as good as Let us pray, and the results are more assured.” — Will Durant, Fallen Leaves

      Health lies in action. We know the drill: sitting is the new smoking. We must get up and move, and not just move, but delight in moving. To play is to live. Life is full enough of tedious moments, don’t you think? Our exercise ought to be fun.

      For me walking is a more fun form of exercise than just about anything save paddling or rowing. Walking in places that inspire and awe is wondrous, and ought to be a regular part of our routine, but sometimes a simple walk around the block is enough to reset the soul and stir the blood. Sometimes we focus so much on the spectacular or the glory of the summit that we forget the benefits of the activity itself. We must move, and glory in the act itself.

      This past weekend I’d contemplated a hike. Knock off a couple of summits that were particularly evasive for me on the list for one reason or another. When you hear the call of the wild you ought to listen, but sometimes that call is a siren. It was treacherously cold in the mountains, the kind of cold that will ruin a perfectly good day for the prepared, or kill the unprepared. Not exactly the play I was craving: lists be damned. So instead of a 4000 footer I opted for sea level and a January beach walk. Also bitingly cold, but distinctly more accessible. It also offered an easy opportunity to simply bail out and get back into a warm car (or bar) if needed.

      My bride and our pup are both beach bunnies at heart. Off-season walks on the beach are their kind of play, and mine too. I can spend all day at the beach so long as I’m not lying still like something that washed up. Surf speaks to me almost as much as summits do, and I view a great walk on a long beach as delightful as any walk can be.

      We chose Hampton Beach, New Hampshire for our off-season walk. We wanted to take stock of the damage from the winter storms last week, and to have a long stretch of beach sand. That biting cold ensured few people would brave the exposure of the beach, so our only company were other dog walkers and a few determined metal detector miners looking for lost riches. We each chase the American dream in our own way, and everyone needs a hobby.

      We should never be so old as merely to watch games instead of playing them. The trick is to stay in the game. To play in the sand is just as fun as playing king of the mountain. Just move, and delight in the company of others. That’s a simple recipe for a great life.

      January at Hampton Beach. Lot’s of footprints in snow, few people.
      Winter means walking in brisk solitude

    • The Evening Walk

      “A dog can never tell you what she knows from the
      smells of the world, but you know, watching her,
      that you know
      almost nothing.”
      — Mary Oliver, Her Grave

      Walking the pup the last few nights, I’m reminded of what hides in plain sight from us. Rabbits standing still, waiting out the passersby. Other dog walkers, faces glowing in rapt attention to the phone while their dog cries for attention, if not from her leash mate, then perhaps from us. A phone ruins night vision immediately, but that’s not the only sense ruined. Awareness is a fragile thing, stolen away in an instant.

      Some things still scare the pup, even as she approaches nine months. She’s a teenager now, as dog years go, and most things don’t scare her on the surface. When she grows timid I pay extra attention, wondering what in the night draws her in so. A good flashlight usually reveals nothing but shadows. The pup knows better.

      The walks were what I missed most about having a dog. Dogs force a break from the comfort of the home, and pull us outside to engage with the world. Where we learn to be more aware. To confront our own senses and what we miss when we’re not fully present. Like poetry, sometimes the smallest thing means everything in this lifetime.

    • Being Open to Delightful Encounters

      “Do anything, but let it produce joy. Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy.” ― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

      We learn much from puppies and children. For all my self-absorbed analysis of the world and my place in it, there’s nothing like putting your ego on the shelf and playing a game of fetch with the pup, or laughing at the world like a toddler does, at the smallest of delights encountered. There are lessons on how to live in such moments of clarity.

      Life is either an active pursuit of joy, or a series of distractions designed to make us believe that we’ve done enough with our days. Which we choose determines how we feel about the game in the end. So it is that I throw the frisbee in the morning fog while my coffee grows cold inside. What’s a cup of coffee but a joyful jolt of clarity anyway? The frisbee seems more sustained and meets canine approval.

      On a solo walk yesterday through a high roller neighborhood yesterday I encountered a couple walking their own dog. Given the neighborhood, the chances are they were high rollers. Given the neighborhood, one could make the case that I was as well (not quite). The dog was a big black Labrador retriever eager to greet everything encountered, including me. The couple were less enthused, with doggie dad grimacing at the thought of saying a word at all. I know a no trespassing sign when I read it— this was an encounter best completed quickly. I said a quick hello to their dog and nodded and smiled at the grimace greeting me, and we walked in opposite directions. One never knows why someone is holding back their joy, for life is full of reasons for grimacing. That doesn’t mean we can allow them to steal our own joy.

      We ought to live our lives focused on joyful interaction with the world, but we know the world is full of pain and misery and the occasional threat to our own well-being. To see the world through the eyes of a child seems naive and fraught with potential danger. Walking through life with our guard up surely seems more pragmatic, but we face other threats when we keep the world at arms-length. We rob ourselves of the possibility of delightful encounters along the way.

      The more life I put behind me, the more I find myself in the business of joy production. We can’t get a smile out of everyone, but we can surely try to raise the collective spirit of a world increasingly in a sour mood. Perhaps this is too much to ask as a purpose of a single lifetime, but it can surely be a product of one.

    • Earning the Warmth

      Through the window
      we could see how far away it was to the gates of April.
      Let the fire now
      put on its red hat
      and sing to us.
      — Mary Oliver, November

      November comes to an end, and just like that, December is at our doorstep. The ambient light of incandescent and LED bulbs make total darkness an impossibility in most cities and suburbia now. The decorations of Christmas have exploded onto the scene, to grow exponentially over the coming weeks. When we get beyond the constant advertisements for last-chance(!) savings on gifts from every retailer on the planet, we’re left with short, crisp days and long, cold nights.

      Some of us thrive in the cold. We have layers upon layers at the ready, lightly dusted from months of being ignored but feeling just right when we slip them on once again. The stakes are driven into the edges of pavement, awaiting their role as traffic cops or road kill for errant plow drivers. Snow? It’s nothing but a possibility for most of us. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll see snow soon enough. The thrill of the crunch! The hiding of all the brown landscape in a crystal blanket. Snow would make it feel like December has arrived. If not, well, we must seek it out in higher elevations as the hikers and skiers do.

      If November is a time for thankfulness and gatherings (and beards and hastily-written first drafts), December is a time for giving and hustling to find the perfect gift for someone before we give up and give them a gift card to use in seven months when they stumble upon it in the drawer dedicated to such plastic tokens of love. We want to celebrate our love for someone with the perfect gift, and somehow it ends up feeling like a concession to just give them the money. My feeling on such things is that the person who gave the card should be a part of the experience of using the card. Experiences are always best shared with those who wish it for you.

      I’m seeking more poetry in my long nights. More warming fires with conversation and a pet snuggled up close. More time reading the books that evaded me in sunshine. More cold walks around the block with a dog that’s come to expect something new on every stroll. We learn what we are unaware of from a dog on a night walk. I’d forgotten the thrill of the sky changing from step to step, the pull of the leash as the dog sees a rabbit, and the sounds of coyotes, fox and fisher cats crying in the night. I’d forgotten the welcoming warmth of that first step into the kitchen after a brisk walk telling me; “Welcome back”. Indeed.

      The days are still getting shorter for a few more weeks. We must embrace the long, cold nights for all that is hidden in them. For we are alive, and nothing makes you feel that like getting out into it, even for a little while. It’s easy to be warm in the tropics. Up north we must earn it. And in the work we find we love it all the more.

    • A High Line Walk

      “Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever.” — Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

      Early morning walks are nothing new for me, but I rarely take them when I’m in Manhattan. Simply put, I don’t love walking in the city the way I love walking in other places. Blame it on the endless concrete, traffic noise and dog owners who don’t pick up their dogs crap. I can love the energy of the city while not enjoying the walking environment—I’m complicated in that way.

      There are exceptions to this rule. Central Park is one. The riverfront is another. And then there’s the High Line, that old elevated railway turned into a pedestrian walk. This delightful walkway doesn’t allow bicycles or skateboards or even dogs (for the record: I love dogs, it’s irresponsible owners I don’t love). This is to protect the fragile plants along the walkway, but it has the side benefit of protecting your footwear too.

      The High Line has proven to be a big hit with the public precisely because of the removal of all that I dislike about walking in the city. You feel like you’re in another world up on the High Line. A world of art and natural plantings and no cars. It’s the kind of environment that could make you love walking in Manhattan.

      Alas, my walk was abbreviated by construction. walking down the stairs back to street level reminded me that I’m a country mouse at heart. Still, a short walk on the High Line is better than nothing.