Steve and me, walking in the pandemic

‘Never owned a car!’ Steve said once. ‘Why would I when I got feet!’

Steve taught me to walk.

Not literally of course; my first teacher, in so many ways, was my mother. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that Steve — my patient in Toronto, a Walker with a capital “W”— taught me the value of walking.

Hearty and fit well into his 80s, Steve walked everywhere. From his apartment near our clinic on the edge of downtown Toronto, through every one of the city’s parks (including the now-infamous Trinity-Bellwoods Park), to the CNE grounds in August, to, well, you name it.

“Never owned a car!” he said once. “Why would I when I got feet!”

He even walked to the suburbs. “What kind of a name is Etobicoke?” he asked me once, making it sound like a new soft drink. I had to look it up.

After WW2, he moved from Eastern Europe (Ukraine, Yugoslavia? I forget. Sorry Steve.) He worked the great Canadian railroads, and fell in love with our country’s wide open spaces, the mountains, the cities, the ports. We never talked about why he didn’t marry. Or the war. Or anything else really, other than his few medical needs and his travels. Wanderlust, you’d call it.

I met Steve when I joined the practice in the mid-90s, the start of my own walking career, a modest one compared to his. Most every day I took this route: from Union Station to the university; the university to the clinic, the clinic to our tiny in-the-city apartment. Through Kensington Market, full of colour and stories. Through the garment district. Through Chinatown. For me it was a mini-commute; for Steve it was a way of life.

We probably all know the importance of walking and its benefits, at east in our heads. It burns calories, keep us fit, increases our cardiovascular health. It builds muscle mass in our legs, adds to our strength, reduces arthritis pain. It has metabolic effects too — on blood sugar and immunity. It even brings some psychological benefits — on mood, on creative thinking (the characters in my novels walk with me sometimes.) The health effects remind me of one of my old clinic colleague’s videos, “Dr. Mike’s 23-1/2 hours.” Ever watch it? You should. Don’t let the title put you off; it’s only a few minutes long.

There are other benefits to walking, not just the biomedical kind; friendship for example. For months, I’ve been lucky enough to have regular walks with three friends — one, slow and full of reminiscences; one faster and full of world-level problem-solving (we’re working on world peace right now; this may need a couple more walks); one pretty brisk, surprisingly spiritual. Great friends, great walks, often the highlight of a pandemic week.

And there are walks that are inspirational. You probably know about El Camino de Santiago, the route of St. James — through the Pyrenees, ending at the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Pilgrims, seekers and just plan hikers find faith in their steps. There’s musical inspiration from walking as well, apparently: the modern classic composer Ludovico Einaudi, became inspired by his long walks in the Alps, especially the effect a snow storm could have on his view: all shapes, stripped bare by the cold, lose their contours and colours for him, allowing him to build what he calls a “musical labyrinth.” They’re captured on seven volumes of music, each portraying a different aspect of his journey. The result — Seven Days Walking — is a classic.

Then, despite its obnoxious presence, killing our elders and many others, and challenging our businesses, there are the gifts of the Covidemic. Quieter walks. Neighbours, even strangers, happy to stand and talk, even at six foot distances. Gardens that are thriving, nurtured by stay-at-home, more faithful attendants. Painted rocks hidden under bushes and plants, everywhere (are they around your place, too? It’s fairies I think). The talented kid-pictures on windows and sidewalks: rainbows, hearts, flowers.

And this: on a recent walking trip through Dundas I came across a large brick wall on which someone had chalked messages of hope, even one from Viktor Frankl — psychiatrist, holocaust survivor, existential philosopher, and, by chance or purpose, a personal hero.

“The last of the human freedoms”: the chalk philosopher wrote, “to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances. To choose one’s own way.”

Walking as metaphor for directing our lives. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe that’s what Steve discovered. Maybe we can, too.

Dave Davis, MD, is a retired family doc and medical educator. His first novel, “A Potter’s Tale,” published by Story Merchant Books, Los Angeles, is available on Amazon in Canada, CA, the US and the UK. You can visit him at drdavedavis.com. Watch for his second novel, “imMORTAL,” coming soon