Walking the Walk

What do Entenmann’s Cinnamon Filbert Ring and the movie After the Wedding have in common? They’re Danish and I recommend them.

I discovered something amazing this weekend. Walking. Have you heard of this stuff? Not only is it considered a form of exercise, it can get you from one place to the other. Pretty cool. I’m completely sick of running. I’m not sure how I can be sick of it since I haven’t done much of it recently, but the last couple times I’ve attempted it, I was completely bored. And my legs hurt. It came to me out of nowhere- Say, I can try walking! I am actually not a complete stranger to walking. From kindergarten through my senior year of high school, I was a “walker”, as opposed to the coveted role of “busser.” Fields trips were all the more exciting, because not only did I get to enjoy the adventure of sitting on the puke green pleather seats of the school bus, there was the added bonus (by bonus I mean intense stress) of finding the right person to sit next to.

On Saturday, I walked from my apartment in Lincoln Square to Andersonville. Like the song from the seasonal cartoon classic, Santa Claus is Comin to Town, advises, if you just put one foot in front of the other, soon you’ll be walkin out the door!

Aside from being enraged at the sight of Krazy Cuts, (It is not klever, kute, or kwaint to spell the name of your business incorrectly. And if you’re going to be kweer enough to spell Crazy Krazy then why not just go balls out and spell Cuts Kuts? Clearly, the only response to such insanity is blind rage), it was a lovely afternoon. And my legs were tired when I got home! Just like what happens when I exercise!

Today I went to meet a friend to see a movie at Clark and Diversey. That’s about 3 ½ miles from my apartment. Guess how I got there. That’s right- the ‘ol legaroos. The walk started out on the wrong foot, so to speak, with the discovery that my ipod is dead. Most unfortunate is the realization that getting a new ipod is not near the top of my budget’s priority list right now. So, entertaining myself with the voices in my head, it is!

I’m not exactly a pro at this walking stuff yet, because I severely misjudged how long it would take me to get to the theater. What began as a relaxing brisk walk on a sunny day, turned into a sweaty try-out for the speedwalking Olympics. My heart rate shot up at a record rate, not necessarily because of the physical exertion, but because being late stresses me out beyond belief. With each hurried step, I obsessed a little more on why I didn’t leave earlier, and how rude it is to make someone wait.

I eventually got there, and about thirty seconds into the movie, my tardiness was the least of my worries. More pressing on my stress agenda is the realization that human life is gearing up for extinction. Huge bummer. Go see The 11th Hour.

Side note on Leonardo DiCaprio (the producer and narrator of the 11th Hour): Leo is one of those people that I’d like to dislike because he just seems too cool and too smart and too talented and too hot, but I really like him because it appears that he’s doing all the right things with his talent and fame. Plus he holds a special place in my movie-viewing heart, for his role in my favorite movie ever, (at least for today), What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. But back to the flick at hand.

Just when I was utterly terrified about our species impending self-induced doom, out came the solutions. Along with providing the cold hard facts about climate change and the technology available to get ourselves out of this mess, the movie (I was going to say film, but I can’t do it without feeling ridiculously pretentious) makes the connection between how we, the human race, feel inside and how we are expressing that in our world. It may sound like hippy BS, but I think it’s, well, right on. Totally tube, even. While governments need to step up and legislate clean energy solutions right quick, all of us need to step up and deal with our addiction to consumption. Even though the f-word (film) gave a number of practical solutions for governments, corporations, designers, and the average schmoe, I was still feeling slightly overwhelmed trying to comprehend how in the h-e-double hockey sticks we’re all gonna change our thinking and prevent our species’ demise. I find some solace in wacky ‘ol Edward Abbey’s take on the subject:

Do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am-- a reluctant enthusiast ... a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it's still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; you will outlive the bastards.

Thanks, Ed. I’ll walk to that.