Hi Gloria, very interesting title— Could you tell us more about the fact that you are a 10 km-a-day walker now? Like, why a Google Sheet? And, honestly, why, overall?

For sure, Reader. Very legitimate questions.

Last February, the university I work at decided to launch a Team Walking Challenge as part of a health program to motivate us employees to activate our cardiovascular equipment and quit sitting for eight hours straight — even though, to be fair, our jobs kind of demand (if not recommend) exactly that.

The contest was named the “Team Step Challenge,” and the rules were remarkably simple: find someone to join you, form a team of no less than two and no more than six people, and track how much each of you walked every day for four weeks in a shared Google Sheet. Every participating team was encouraged to do the same, with all the steps adding up to a final ceremony where the team with the most kilometres walked would be crowned the winner.

Cute challenge, am I right? A modest workplace competition suggesting you can walk a few more steps, skip the bus (that Dublin bus that probably would not show up anyway), or maybe investigate that quirky side street in your neighborhood you ignored for three years.

And that is exactly how I took it (at least at the beginning). My modest goal for this modest workplace competition was just to get by and not look too lazy, maybe consider exploring that quirky side street of my neighborhood I had most definitely been ignoring—which was adorable, considering our team name was “Alt+Ctrl+Delete the Competition.”

Meow-esque, I know.

And how did that go? Did you, like, delete the competition?

So, one week goes by.

I do what I am supposed to, i.e., I am modest. I walk around 3 km per day; I go into the little spreadsheet, and I modestly type in my very respectable step count.

However, I also proceeded to pursue what a perfectionist overachiever is not supposed to do in a contest: I started peeking at my competitors, because, let’s be honest, of course I did. I love knowing things, i.e., I relish comparing myself and feeling dread.

I shift my eyes from my pitiful digits to the others. Just a peek. Numbers are growing. Numbers glowing. Just a peek. Numbers sparkling. Other numbers are capturing my numbers with their elongated and kilometric jaws and gulping them alive. Just a peek.

I'm 24. How is 56-year-old John briskly averaging 14 kilometers a day? Good old Martha? She’s out here legging 18 km on a weekend like it’s July 8th; it’s humid but in an appropriate amount to enjoy the night, and she is eating a crunchy ice cream cone after riding a rollercoaster. My line manager? Apparently, practicing marathon jogs between meetings.

I tasted inadequacy, Reader, with a lick of shame. Maybe it was my chronic itch to be top of the class, whipped with one cup of “What will people think of me?”

Whatever it was, I don’t think we’re dying to slip into that Inferno today.

What matters for the plot is that instantly, with no further thinking or planning, just pure Google Spreadsheet-induced panic, I decided that, from that day on, I would walk at least 10 km per day until the end of the challenge.

Did you, like, actually do it? If the title is true, I suppose you did.

Dear Reader, I am not here to lie, especially to you (and I am not sure if this is a question).

What I can tell you, though, is that starting a(n) (im)modest challenge like this is not impossible, but it is not the most ergonomic piece of cake to eat; it takes intentionality (ugh) and willpower (ugh, ugh).

The truth is, my biggest obstacle wasn’t strictly walking (at least 10 km per day). It was all about the polyrhythmic and quite cacophonic scat I had been humming in my head:

(I start singing.)

I am a slow walker (my anti-capitalist pace, thank you) (la la la).

Then apparently I am lazy (mmm mmm).

Then my scoliosis actually makes my back hurt (shoo bee doo bee doo).

Then I refuse to fix my posture or wear comfy shoes because of “cool shoes” and a perspicacious “I am 16—there is no way I can wear a back brace” (skiddle dee hee hee).

Then I hate how my body looks (na na na na).

Then I hate how my body moves (la la la la).

Then my thyroid betrays me (but we already wrote one article or two about that) (ooh, aah, ooh).

Then I feel tired (ba da ba).

Then I feel not enough (yeah, yeah, yeah).

Then I skip therapy (boom chicka boom cha cha).”

A lumpy bowl of musically inappropriate and quite traumatizing soup.

In the midst of all this good soup, however, competitiveness has typically emerged as a very overpowering spice in the bowl. It’s intense. It’s piquant. (It’s ridiculous.).

Fine. I’ll walk. I’ll walk a lot. And I’ll walk fast. I’ll show the spreadsheet how many numbers I can provide [(za zing) mic drop].

And, my Reader child, this is the story of how, since that mic drop, I’ve been walking at least 10 kilometers a day (and how I showed that shared Google Spreadsheet all my dazzling big numbers).

And how can you walk 10 km a day everyday if you have, like, a job?

I just make myself do it. I walk to the farthest supermarket. I walk to the gym (and I walk in the gym :P). I walk around the quirky side(s) of my neighborhood. I walk on my lunch break. I walk to dinner parties. I walk from dinner parties (if escorted by a bulky man—I have the privilege of being a vulnerable woman, especially in the dark). I walk while calling friends. I walk while friends call me (mom and dad included).

I make time to walk, Reader. I leave earlier. I go to sleep earlier. I wake up earlier. I plan, and I follow through (:0).

The point is that I don’t even walk 10 km a day for the challenge anymore. That modest competition ended months ago (and, in an unimaginable plot twist, we didn’t even win).

Why do you walk, though, if the competition ended, and you didn’t even win?

Wow, Reader, chill.

I keep walking because I learned that I love it. Walking is wonderful. Walking is harmonious.

I am not here to discuss the science behind why walking is good. You probably already know that walking is nice enough for your heart, and for your knees, and for your mind, and for all the other things that I honestly don’t know.

What I can tell you is this:

  • I feel strong(er). My calves don’t burn (anymore). My back doesn’t scream. My legs feel like they belong to me, and I belong to them (weird thing to say?).

  • I’m mentally clearer. Sitting all day can trap you up there in your brain. Walking is a reminder that you have a body down here as well. It hugs you, whispering that you are a body.

You walk towards = you leave clouds behind.

  • Comfy shoes > aesthetic shoes. Functionality is beauty; lack of pain is trendy.

  • I now delight in the quirky side street of my neighborhood I had been ignoring for three years. And all the other weird, cool new spots I discovered (and claimed).

  • I developed a (decent) sense of orientation. My feet have charted streets. I own a personalized mental map. I know where everything rests and belongs.

  • Walking filled my time, then the world filled in. New people, new foods, new sounds, new smells, new ideas inhabiting new corners, new alleys, new courtyards, new parks, new beaches, new gardens.

  • I understand powerfulness. I didn’t think I would be able to do this, and now I do it every day. I can trust my body, and I can trust myself.

  • I see nature. Nature exists outside myself. Leaves embroider patches of sky. And, if you’re lucky, pink cherry petals enchant the frame.

  • I wake up with purpose. Walk first, figure the rest out later.

  • Music + movement = joy. Especially if you want to be the main character [(you are), but only if the music is loud and you get random tinnitus later].

Food is … different? It’s not punishment or reward. It’s fuel. It’s kind of cool. I just walk, so I eat. I just ate, so I walk.

  • I call people I forgot I missed it. Walk time = yap time.

  • I love being mobile. I yearn to move. Not just walking. I dance, I jump, I hike, and I run [when I am late (to get that Dublin bus that is always late, except for the one time you are running behind, juggling three bags, squeezing a water bottle, and trampling on your white shoelaces)].

You already know all of this can be good for you (besides trampling on your white shoelaces; black shoelaces are fine).

Maybe just try walking or just try shaking your body in a way you love.

Even if just for an hour or maybe for a week.

You might get better; you might go somewhere; you might meet yourself there; you might also trip over new corners to observe (and accept).

Dear Reader,

I loved walking so much; I had to talk to you just to let you know.

P.S. You should probably eat healthy stuff too, though.