Walks she feels in her heart and bones

Home from work for his lunch break, my husband hastily clears our sandwich plates and heads toward the door. I slip on my sneakers and grab my cellphone. Just like that, we’re off -- out the garage door, walking side by side down the cul-de-sac.

My determined, brisk strides, made prettier by my lace-adorned shoes, are no match for my spouse’s fast-stepping Sperry Top-Siders. We must make quite the sight, I think, glancing at my beloved, clad in his usual “business casual” attire: blue Dockers, polo shirt and boat shoes. I pull my T-shirt down over my jeans, hoping to conceal a missing button. Sure hope we don’t run into anyone we know.

A late September breeze pushes us forward, past crimson-tipped maples and yellow-leafed oaks. I admire the neighborhood homes, already costumed for fall with pumpkins, scarecrows and colorful mums. Sidestepping a lifeless white-bellied frog, we forge ahead, holding hands like teenagers. We walk a mile, past rows of Colonials and stately brick Georgians.

All at once, my husband pulls me away from a growling German shepherd. I keep my eyes forward, focused on the steady, rhythmic sound of our shoes striking concrete. The hand in mine tells me what I already know: I have a true partner, in exercise and life. The guy in the funny-looking boat shoes will always be by my side, offering protection, support and encouragement.

As we circle the neighborhood, I marvel at the woodland creatures making their home in our suburban subdivision: a fluttering Monarch, a creepy, oversized cricket, a family of black squirrels. A rustling in the trees causes me to pause. A white spotted fawn looks up from its lunch of shrub leaves, eyeing us with suspicion. We are a startling sight, I suppose -- this odd couple holding hands like newlyweds and circling the neighborhood each day at noon.

Despite the stares from our forest friends (and a few neighbors, waving wildly as they drive by in sports cars and SUVs), we continue to walk. A maple tree sporting the colors of autumn -- yellow, burnt orange and red -- seems to smile upon our exercise efforts.

Thanks to my family doctor, I have chosen this path. At a recent physical, his eyebrows furrowed with concern for my family tree, its branches brittle with osteoporosis. Walking, it turns out, is good for the bones.

With each measured step, I think about my mother, her once-stately 5-foot-9 frame now a fractured 5-foot-4. I hear echoes of my aunt’s voice, confessing yet another back injury.

And so we walk -- past the lake, honking geese and a wayward turtle. At the three-mile mark, I wipe my forehead, flushed yet energized from the journey. My husband looks my way, reluctant to return to his office and work routine. Perhaps walking makes him feel like I do -- stronger somehow, connected down to our very core. I wonder if we will walk forever, holding each other up through life’s bumpy paths.

I reach for his hand. Crunching through the leaves, we walk side by side down the wooded road: a path that, for me, has made all the difference.

Wass is a freelance writer in Ohio.

www.stefaniewass.com

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