A CHANGE OF PACE
Houstonians return to the sidewalks during this uncertain time
One of the worst things about coronavirus — when it first emerged in Houston back in March — was the way everything shut down. I felt trapped and more anxious than almost any other point in my adult life.
Everything I would do normally — go to the gym, commiserate with buddies over a drink at Under the Volcano or a meal somewhere else — was dangerous. And soon, after the county shut down, no longer an option.
I stewed in my apartment for days, hardly a surprising response.
“This is a terribly difficult time, and it’s difficult because there’s so much uncertainty, whether related to health matters, job matters, the economy, the future,” said Dr. Eric Storch, a psychiatry professor at
Baylor College of Medicine.
Still, one can only marinate inside for so long. After a few days — maybe a week — I finally emerged one morning, coffee mug in hand, and went for a walk.
I wandered the streets of my neighborhood, retracing paths I have walked hundreds of times since moving to Houston six years ago, and felt like I was seeing them for the first time. The everyday landscapes popped just a little more visibly.
One of my first impressions of Houston was that of concrete and asphalt, ribbons of highway choking off the city. Nothing like the hills and forests of my native New England, where public transit and mild weather made walking feel natural. Houston’s flat terrain and jagged sidewalks — not to mention the dogmouth summers — have always made spending significant amounts
of time outside seem daunting. But if Houston lacks the grand vistas of more bucolic settings, it has its own pockets of quiet beauty.
I wandered for miles. Through Boulevard Oaks, marveling at its mighty live oaks, trees that looked at any moment like they might begin to move or walk. I listened to night herons jostling in the canopy above. I paused, stunned, on walks after the recent rains, noticing the tangle of resurrection ferns blanketing each tree’s limbs.
I crisscrossed Montrose. Up past my favorite taco truck, past closed bars and restaurants and businesses. I meandered lines at H-E-B and Trader Joe’s, up and down Dunlavy and Hazard, feeling like I was taking in the city anew.
I wasn’t alone. Day after day, I saw other lone walkers. Kids on trikes. Runners. There was far more foot traffic than I’d ever seen on these roads before.
It stayed that way, day after day. Despite playgrounds closing, parks were full of picnickers and people working out. I noticed strangers eagerly saying hello to their neighbors, a whole community intent on trying to find ways to be together, looking for other humans, even if only from a distance.
The same felt true elsewhere across the city. I spent one evening in April walking along Buffalo Bayou, as it swarmed with people. Joggers bounced past. Lovers strolled arm in arm. And spandexclad cyclists zoomed by.
The bayou’s trails have seen a marked spike in use, said Buffalo Bayou Partnership spokeswoman Trudi Smith. Possibly too much.
“We have been concerned, from time to time, about social distancing,” she told me. “Our trails have been extremely crowded and Eleanor Tinsley Park has been as well. Many folks have been using the park for physical and mental health benefits.”
Only after some businesses and gyms reopened did park use start to decline, she said.
Elsewhere, other organizations had the same experience.
Houston B-Cycle closed its 12 busiest stations, worried their crowding might spread infection. The company expected a 70 percent drop in use after that, said spokesman Henry Morris, but instead recently experienced their best week ever.
If there is any silver lining during this pandemic, he said, it’s that it has helped people across the city rediscover their neighborhoods and use the streets in a different way.
It was perhaps the one upside to all of this, for me anyway: The sudden halt of daily life made me appreciate my surroundings more fully.
“The pandemic, in many ways, has allowed many of us to slow down,” said Storch, the psychiatrist. “For some, we’ve become even more busy, but for others, we’re able to have more time with family, spend more time outdoors, and focus on things we might not ordinarily be able to, given our high-paced lives.”
I heard from several people who shared that experience.
My friend Aziz started going on two 3-mile walks a day. It’s a chance to get away from Zoom meetings and clear his head. Now confined at home, where his makeshift office is 3 feet from his bed, the walk is a new way to impose some structure on his day.
“It’s almost like replacing the morning commute,” he said.
He listens to NPR’s “Up First” podcast and the “Daily” in the morning, and audio books at night.
Another friend told me about going on long walks, spotting cats and a coyote.
For others, the duties of parenting or grandparenting have also spurred them to action. One father of a 3-year-old began cycling when his son finally ditched his training wheels.
“It was terrifying,” he joked. Billye Moutra, a 65-year-old grandmother from Missouri City, told me that she asked for a new basketball hoop for her birthday.
A cancer survivor, she just couldn’t stand sitting around inside anymore. When the setup arrived, she took her 7 and 13-yearold granddaughters outside, to show off her moves.
“I’m still beating these little kids,” she said, laughing.
She found herself returning to the outdoors, watching the squirrels and hummingbirds, listening to those (rare, at least for Houston) breezes.
As a kid, she used to love being outdoors. The enforced solitude of the pandemic has reminded her of that joy.
“You spend more time enjoying what’s been here all along,” she said. “You just didn’t have a chance to pay attention to it (before).”