I have dreadful feet. Actually I have all kinds on inherited problems from the knees down. But at least my feet and legs still work… for which I’m extremely grateful… because I think walking is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
When my first child was a baby, I used to go for long walks every afternoon, pushing her in the pram. At the time, I did it because I’d read in baby books that it’s very stimulating for babies to be out and about, exposed to new sights and sounds and smells. I was so into being a great mum I didn’t think about the benefits for me. Back then, young mothers weren’t jogging with prams to keep fit the way they do now. I’m sure if exercise had been trendier then, I would have been into that, too – pushing the pram up Castle Hill, no doubt.
These days, I do go for walks for exercise. Writing is such a sedentary job, I need to make an extra effort to get moving each day. But although I groan as I roll out of bed each morning, once I get going, I know that walking is about so much more than boring exercise.
I can listen to audio books – my new favourite indulgence, or I can people watch along The Strand. I can dream about my work in progress and I can drink in the beauty of Cleveland Bay and Magnetic Island just off shore.
Best of all, I can just let my mind wander… it’s amazing the thoughts that pop in when I’m least expecting it. Countless story ideas have evolved from these walks.
So no more complaining from me that there are only two pairs of shoes in the whole of Townsville that fit me.
As my dad used to say: “I had no shoes and I complained until I met a man who had no feet.”