Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.  ~Wallace Stevens






I have not walked much this summer.   I can't really pinpoint the reason why that is.  Last summer I would often find myself walking twice a day around Cheyenne's biggest lake.  Which I understand is akin to pointing out who Snow White's toughest Dwarf...Cheyenne is not know for their large bodies of water.  What we are known for is rodeo's, bored teenagers, pot holes, and the fact that we are surrounded by enough nukes to, if launched, to possibly put a dent in Donald Trumps ego.  The path around the lake is pretty small, but for me, it is rancid with memories of my youth.  With each nook, cranny, grove of trees, and bend in the path I am stolen back to my childhood.  That is why the path around Sloans Lake is my walk of choice.



Sloans Lake.   Where Jimmy Hoffa came to rest...and where John comes to walk.


When I was walking...but I have not been walking much this summer...

There are probably hundreds of little tiny excuses I could provide you with to explain my absence from the path.  To be sure, on top of the list should be the fact that I am, in fact, remarkably lazy.  I have the ambition of a dead rabbit...which is an insult to dead rabbits everywhere because they at least have enough get up and go to decompose.  I think that if today were my last spin around the Earth I would not even have the energy to melt into worm chum.  The simple thought of stomping my Bilbo Baggins-ish legs around the lake lately has the same appeal of having my liver chewed on my  zombie trucker while being forced to listen to the music of The Steve Miller Band.  (it should be noted for anyone who needs reminding that The Steve Miller Band scores a 10 on the Suck-a-meter ™.  )

I can also place some of the blame on why I have not been walking on my missing IPOD.  My sweet little IPOD was my walking buddy.  Without my IPOD (which I believe was stolen by Russian Special Forces to try and ensure that I don't walk and thereby gain an extra ten pounds, which will make me useless in combat when the Red Army hits us like they did in Red Dawn.  WOLVERINES!!!!)  I am unwilling and perhaps semi-unable to walk without my IPOD.  Like a villain in a Daytime Soap Opera I need a soundtrack.  While the whispers of wind sifting through the giant elms, the singing of birds, and the sounds of children playing is good enough audio background for most Sloans Lake Walkers, for me it serves a distraction.  When I walk I am not interested in spending my time outward listening to the world...I like to fall inward and listen to my own conscience.


Walking was my one time (sometimes twice) a day that I could spend in reflection, and in meditation.  With each jumbled step from my uneven and waddled gape I would help pound out the worries of the day on the concrete below.  My walks would give me the time to make decisions on the issues that were firmly implanted on the fence of my mental congress.  Without my daily walks I am finding myself stuck on the worry...without my daily walks I am finding myself not making any decisions.  I feel immobile in a non-walking funk. 

Which I realize sounds like a bad thing, and maybe it is.  Lately I have been feeling without a strong sense of purpose, and with more doubts that the Public Relations Director of The Vatican.  I have felt like I am going nowhere in a world where everybody seems to be going somewhere.  Everyone is trying to catch their metaphorical trains, and I am just sitting on the platform eating my ice cream cone and content watching everyone hustle around me.  When I was walking I felt like I was at least going somewhere...even if it was just in a big circle around a lake.

With all those feelings swimming in my Orca-sized emotional dunk tank that is my heart I decided it was time to start walking again today.  Did my first jaunt around under the canopy of grand trees cure me of my lack of motivation?  Nope.  Not in the slightest.  Which kind of makes me glad.  Right now I am perfectly content watching everyone catch their trains.  Instead my walk gave me a rare moment of clarity where two thoughts came racing in my head from what, I am sure was a divine source:

1) I am out of shape.  Like Paul Blart: Mall Cop kind of out of shape.  I am convinced that I would lose in a foot race to a donut.

2) Ducks are loud.  Really loud.  The other walkers found it endearing, I found it arrogant.  We get it...you can be loud.  I can dance the Lambada, (THE FORBIDDEN DANCE!) that doesn't mean I am going to subject anyone else at the Park to it.  Get over yourselves ducks. 

Like Samuel L. Jackson, who informed the other passengers on the ill fated plane ride that it was time to get t"he something-something snakes off of the something-something plane", I too came to the realization that it is time to get my Oompa Loompa tush in gear.  If nothing else but to work off the daily breakfast burrito's that hibernate in my belly at around 8:45 every morning.  So if you'll excuse me I am off to walk again.  Before I go has anyone noticed that Geese seem to be pooping more these days?  I know I have been gone for a year...but sheesh...maybe it is time for them to visit a dietician.

Walk On.