Identity Shift

      Do you like to walk? Do you consider yourself a walker?

      I saw this quote from comedian Stephen Wright: “Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time,” and so to prove the point I asked the mapping app on my phone to give me a route for walking from our house in Midland, Texas, to our daughter’s house in Mansfield, Texas, 319 miles. The app said it would take 4 days and 13 hours to walk, which breaks out to 3 miles per hour, or 20 minutes per mile. I doubt I could keep that pace for four-and-a-half days straight, but like Stephen Wright said, everywhere is within walking distance.

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      On May 31, I finished 46 years of running; I started in June 1978, hoping to impress a girl. During all those years I’ve run a total of 39,428 miles. (I was never a fast runner, but always a reliable documenter.)

      Nowadays, I’m no longer running thanks to two after-market knees and one rebuilt foot, but I’m walking three miles about 3-4 times per week. And, yes, I include those walks in my running log. That is, I record my intentional miles, the ones I mean to be exercise and not just pedestrian transportation.

      If I continue my current pace of thirty miles per month, I’ll cross the 40,000 miles threshold by the end of December 2025. 40,000 is pretty cool, but a year-and-a-half is a long time to push toward a goal. Maybe I’ll make it a group event, invite fellow walkers to join me, and after mile 40,000 we can all have a milkshake together.

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      It only took me six or seven years to be comfortable describing what I do as walking instead of running. I had too much identity tied up in the word running. In fact, my first book was titled, Running With God. And it isn’t a coincidence that the first writing I did for public consumption was for the local running club newsletter in 1988. My best ideas were born on the run.

      A couple of years ago I finally admitted to myself that most observers never considered what I did to be actual running. More than once, more than ten or twenty times, someone would tell me they saw me out powerwalking when I thought I was running.

      My transition from running to walking was more about definitions than speed or form. Today I’m OK telling Cyndi, “I’m going out walking,” but it took me a long time to feel good about saying walking instead of running. It felt too much like downsizing.

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      When walking in Spain on the Camino, our longest day was fourteen miles. I was exhausted by the time we got to our hotel, but I knew I could have gone further if necessary. I asked myself: Could I train for another marathon? Do I have the patience to walk that far knowing it would probably take me eight hours or more? Not only do I worry whether I have patience for that, can I actually expect someone (Cyndi) to accompany me and wait that long?

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      Back in 1978 I never imagined that running (now walking) would become instrumental in how I lived my life, how I planned my time, where I traveled for fun and leisure, how I met my friends, and how I ended up serving in local government. I certainly didn’t expect the daily dose of being alone on my feet would become spiritual meditation. I didn’t intend for running to become such an integral part of my life. All I wanted to do was win back my girl.

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PS: The best news of all? That girl I was trying to win back – her name is Cyndi, and we’ve been married now for almost 45 years.“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32