It’s three days until April 15. For some that’s Tax Day. For me, having filed in February, it’s Day One of 2024’s walking project. In early March, I chose this date on the basis of mostly clement weather and a good start to spring blooms. I selected a journal where I’d map each day’s excursion. I pondered whether I’d walk the streets in reverse alphabetical order this year, and if I should add binoculars to my accoutrements of baseball cap and headphones. I loaded my music app with song after song.
Then I got sick and needed to rethink everything. As part of my recovery I was supposed to walk, and especially I was encouraged to walk outside. But I was supposed to avoid hills, at least until I was cleared by the doctors to tackle steepish inclines.
This…was a problem. I live in hilly New England these days, not in flat Chicago. Even my driveway slopes. To walk around my block involves ascending and descending three smallish hills. I listed the flat spots I knew in town and tried to get inspiration. From somewhere. Anywhere. Very few people, it seems, have gotten excited enough about the earth’s plains, marshes, and swamps to pen glowing tributes to them. Unlike the mountains.
April also happens to be a month when mountaineers descend upon the Himalayas. The reasons cited for summit attempts are numerous. Spring and fall are the best times to tackle a Himalayan peak. The weather’s relatively warm but not dangerously so. And the views, I’m assured, are fabulous. Around 2,000 people are expected to attempt Mount Everest in the spring of 2024, each of them with a personal quest. To be the oldest, or the first XYZ to summit, or just to see if they can do it. The most infamous rationale is George Mallory’s 1923 quip, “Because it’s there.” The next year he either died on Mount Everest or was kidnapped by the Yetis. “Because it’s there” seems unnecessarily flippant, but in its way it’s a complete and honest answer. I’m pretty good at coming up with a noble-sounding motive, but I never know what is the true reason.
Fortunately my husband Dave is helping me find level ground. As a cyclist he becomes aware of even slight inclines. With my mind fixed on flat spaces, I’m also questioning mountain as a metaphor for a challenge. Part of that is sour grapes, sure. Part of it is the reports of the mountaineers themselves about their experiences. They spend so much of their time focused on the terrain just a few feet in front of them. Or a few inches. Sure there’s a view—of rocks and ice and ropes and the next climber’s outfit. Attention must be focused on setting the piton, watching for crevasses, lifting the boots for the next step.
Even on the flattest ground, I think my view is pretty expansive. The stakes aren’t as high, but I was elated on my first full walk around the block, which was yesterday. (Gotta acclimatize before tackling those flats; April 15 is almost here!) I managed the three small hills, and even if I wasn’t gasping for air and or facing frostbite or snow blindness, it still felt a tiny bit dangerous. And delightful. I saw a robin hopping, and daffodils, and the street all the way to its end, every house with people in it and their own lives and stories, and when I needed more than that the sky was endless over the top of me.
I’ll keep exploring the flat stretches. And if someone asks why are you doing this thing, I’ll answer: “Because I’m here.”
the jeanSpace 