Walking is still hard for me. Not hard like a migraine, or hard like a broken leg. But I sweat through my shirt and flop into a chair when I get home. It takes a minute to catch my breath. I could be embarrassed, knowing that these women experience it as an easy jaunt. But they are gentle with me and do not judge. 

 

On occasion the friends I walk with have a conflict and cannot meet at our regular time. I am not even tempted to go without them. I can barely get myself to go with them. This is in spite of the fact that venturing out in the early morning is a lovely beginning to my day. I see the sky, and hear the birds, watch the changing colors, and feel the wind. 

 

Sometimes I wish I could just be part of a focus group about the merits of exercise, rather than actually participate. Join a committee to research the advantages and which dangers to avoid, and even make a donation. But stay indoors. Yet that seems to miss the point. 

 

I have noticed a difference, by the way. When I sing with the preschool children I have more stamina, and traipsing up and down the stairs with baskets of laundry is easier. Walks make me stronger. 

 

It works that way with other things. Discussing the pros and cons of being kind to others is like going to a restaurant and only reading the menu. It is handy to know what the entrees are, but that is no substitute for food in your belly.

 

Recently I made a renewed effort to listen to people whose voices are quieter. It is my good fortune to hear what they have to say, to look in their precious faces. Their experience of life can be difficult, trying to fit in. Just showing up each day can be exhausting. 

 

Maybe if I am willing to walk beside them, they will get stronger.