On the Benefits of Walking

Whether it is some primal instinct, or maybe it’s just because I’m slightly mentally retarded: I can’t think when I run. When I run, my mind simply disappears. It’s not like day dreaming, or even dreaming. I simply cannot think while I run. I would venture to say that it is quite possible that the reason I can’t think while I run may be due to some antediluvian impulse passed down through generations of homo sapiens that perhaps originated from an omnipresent desire to capture food. What I mean to say is that when homo sapiens first ran, it may have been to catch an animal, and this desire to capture it would blot out all thoughts in the mind. Certainly, this is all speculation, but it’s quite convincing when you consider the abstruse determination of our species: the will to win. We can observe this in our need for competition, and the determination to reach a certain goal. Anyhow, when I run, I very literally become a blathering twit. But to quote Henry David Thoreau, “In my walks, I would like to return to my senses.” And this is precisely what I would hope to accomplish in my walks.

Thoreau was a well-known proponent of the environment, as can be seen in his famous book, Walden. He believed in living a simple life; he disliked the super malls and towering skyscrapers proclaiming the awesome power of man. Not to say he was a misanthrope, nor was he a pessimist; rather, he was a transcendentalist. Though I have indeed previously quoted him, I, in no means, am advocating his ideas. While I, too, see the danger in the expansion of industry and the encroachment on nature, I believe that man and nature can coexist. On my walks, I have noticed that simple rows of suburban houses, ever-present in every suburban neighborhood, provide a sense of tranquility, one suitably complemented with sporadic sprouts of nature. Now what does this have to do with running? I am quite ashamed to admit, but I find that I am a member of a group of sapiens rather lacking in a relatively stalwart sense of determination, and I find that at the slightest indication of weariness, I feel the need to walk. And perhaps this is a good thing; for on my walks, I have noticed what few have noticed. And so it should be, for one can only truly find oneself in the nature of one’s thoughts. It is this realm of effervescent thoughts that I believe is triggered by a stroll down the street. What street? Well, any street will do. Walking, so it would seem, is a thinking man’s sport. Why, in no other sport is the mind so unrestrained, so free. And where the mind wanders, fascinating thoughts can be found. I should like to share an example: as I was walking, just yesterday, down a small street, I came upon a book. Left probably by an absent-minded toddler, it was a story of wonderful things, or so it seemed from the cover; it was a children’s book. And then I thought to myself: what would the world be like if it were this children’s book. Well, I said to myself, it would have to have peace…yes, everlasting peace…and also a hapless damsel in distress…oh, yes, and a gallant knight in shining armor. And this led me to think, in modern society, who’s the damsel in distress and who’s the knight in shining armor? And so, my mind wandered, free from the restraints of the present.

I have never been much inclined towards the science of the mind. And were I to explain the science behind the wandering of the mind, I would fail miserably. And yet, to me, there are some things I believe one does not need to understand to enjoy. Take, for example, Jell-O. Do I really need to, or want to, know how Jell-O is made to enjoy it? The answer is No. And by the way, in case you didn’t know, Jell-O is made by grinding cow bones, pig bones, or horse hooves, and boiling it to extract collagen, which is used to make the gelatin base of Jell-O, just thought I’d let you know. Back to the point, I don’t understand fully why our minds work as they do. But I believe that the way it, being the mind, acts whilst walking is truly a miracle. Walking, to me, is much more than physical exercise; it is, as it were, a testament to what makes us human: the power to think.