Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Asheville Walk
In the middle of June in the middle of a heat wave, the record kind, I'm walking, but not as much as I planned. More later.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Walking to class 45 years late
Victor W. Rauch (revised June 1, 2010)
In 2003, I began renewing my pedestrian’s-eye view of the campus of Michigan State University, walking some paths I first took as a student.
What a difference 45 years makes.
As I walk to class this time, I’m the instructor, the main campus is bigger and the distances are longer.
I had driven the two miles in past couple of semesters, but I vowed that this summer, with a class three days a week, it was time to tone up my body, save some gas and parking money and to get my feet ready for negotiating the steep streets of San Miguel de Allende come January.
The distance is at least twice what in my freshman year was a long stretch from my dorm room Bailey Hall to Mrs. Doty’s Spanish class in Berkey Hall.
But now I was walking from my house near the Hannah Community Center on Abbot Road to the Communications Arts Building on MSU’s South Campus, in an area that probably was a sheep meadow back in 1958.
The walk seemed to get easier each time. And after five times, I didn’t pause to rest on the walk home in the hot midday sun. I just wanted to get back to my air-conditioned home.
As I became familiar with two or three variations of routes, I rediscovered thinking while walking. Thinking and contemplating and daydreaming can be hard to do when walking the dog or when walking with Ellen, although we sometimes express deep and meaningful thoughts. For the record, the meaningful expressions are between Ellen and me, not the dog and me.
Thinking while walking solo helped me plan for timely to do in that day’s class and future sessions.
For four or five years back in the ‘eighties when I lived in Kalamazoo, I trod a slightly longer distance two or three times a week from my house on the west side to my newspaper office downtown. And in the late ‘nineties, there were the morning walks almost every day after Robin died. Praying as well as thinking while walking paid dividends, too. More than once, I marveled at seeing shooting stars at 4 or 5 in the morning.
Good habits, such as walking, contemplating, praying and eating what’s good for you, seem to fade away over time. And it’s tough to get restarted.
I’m not sure what got me going in the summer of 2003, but I was hoping it would become a habit that stayed a while.
The climb up Sunset Street became less steep. Knowing when and where to cross Grand River Avenue was less of a challenge. The paths past the red brick dormitories, Beaumont Tower and the Library take me where no car can go.
Those designated crosswalks look different when they’re part of my path. Now the roads are the crossings.
There was a squirrel in the Beal Gardens between the Library and the Red Cedar River that wanted to say hello to me one day, but I told him I had no peanuts. I forgot to bring any the next day.
The pedestrian bridge behind the library took me over the rain-swollen Red Cedar. My steps took me past Wells Hall. A recorded voice at the intersection of Red Cedar and Shaw Lane, unintelligible to me from my car, was still unintelligible the first four times I walked, suddenly registered with me one day. “Crosswalk for Shaw Lane” and “Crosswalk for Red Cedar Road.”
Anticipating cars on the traffic circle at Red Cedar and Wilson Drive soon became second nature to me. When I arrived in Comm Arts, I pushed the button to ride the elevator to my third-floor office. The next week, I remembered the peanuts and I started using the stairs.
In 2003, I began renewing my pedestrian’s-eye view of the campus of Michigan State University, walking some paths I first took as a student.
What a difference 45 years makes.
As I walk to class this time, I’m the instructor, the main campus is bigger and the distances are longer.
I had driven the two miles in past couple of semesters, but I vowed that this summer, with a class three days a week, it was time to tone up my body, save some gas and parking money and to get my feet ready for negotiating the steep streets of San Miguel de Allende come January.
The distance is at least twice what in my freshman year was a long stretch from my dorm room Bailey Hall to Mrs. Doty’s Spanish class in Berkey Hall.
But now I was walking from my house near the Hannah Community Center on Abbot Road to the Communications Arts Building on MSU’s South Campus, in an area that probably was a sheep meadow back in 1958.
The walk seemed to get easier each time. And after five times, I didn’t pause to rest on the walk home in the hot midday sun. I just wanted to get back to my air-conditioned home.
As I became familiar with two or three variations of routes, I rediscovered thinking while walking. Thinking and contemplating and daydreaming can be hard to do when walking the dog or when walking with Ellen, although we sometimes express deep and meaningful thoughts. For the record, the meaningful expressions are between Ellen and me, not the dog and me.
Thinking while walking solo helped me plan for timely to do in that day’s class and future sessions.
For four or five years back in the ‘eighties when I lived in Kalamazoo, I trod a slightly longer distance two or three times a week from my house on the west side to my newspaper office downtown. And in the late ‘nineties, there were the morning walks almost every day after Robin died. Praying as well as thinking while walking paid dividends, too. More than once, I marveled at seeing shooting stars at 4 or 5 in the morning.
Good habits, such as walking, contemplating, praying and eating what’s good for you, seem to fade away over time. And it’s tough to get restarted.
I’m not sure what got me going in the summer of 2003, but I was hoping it would become a habit that stayed a while.
The climb up Sunset Street became less steep. Knowing when and where to cross Grand River Avenue was less of a challenge. The paths past the red brick dormitories, Beaumont Tower and the Library take me where no car can go.
Those designated crosswalks look different when they’re part of my path. Now the roads are the crossings.
There was a squirrel in the Beal Gardens between the Library and the Red Cedar River that wanted to say hello to me one day, but I told him I had no peanuts. I forgot to bring any the next day.
The pedestrian bridge behind the library took me over the rain-swollen Red Cedar. My steps took me past Wells Hall. A recorded voice at the intersection of Red Cedar and Shaw Lane, unintelligible to me from my car, was still unintelligible the first four times I walked, suddenly registered with me one day. “Crosswalk for Shaw Lane” and “Crosswalk for Red Cedar Road.”
Anticipating cars on the traffic circle at Red Cedar and Wilson Drive soon became second nature to me. When I arrived in Comm Arts, I pushed the button to ride the elevator to my third-floor office. The next week, I remembered the peanuts and I started using the stairs.
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