the sign from God

I delayed and delayed my Saturday walk, heading out at 10:45 p.m., but still fully intending (or, at least, part of my mind intended) to walk all the way out to the Jamshil Bridge and back, a good 14 km. With my buddy Tom having called in the early afternoon on Saturday to inform me that this was the first truly cool daytime, I knew I couldn't sit on my ass all day: I had to get out there and get in some steps. But as the hour to walk approached, I found it easier to crawl into bed and nap, refusing to face my future. This happened several times: laziness got the best of me, and I was haunted by a general, gravitational lassitude. I did go out and do some shopping* for the cooking marathon later today (Sunday), but other than that, I was lazy for most of Saturday.

Night arrived, and I did finally, grudgingly pull myself away from my latest "nap," dress myself, stick my bandanna** on my head like an old biker who still thinks he's in his 20s (second bandanna in the pocket in case of sweat), and lumbered out of my building into the surprisingly cool night. I checked temps: it was around 21ºC (about 70ºF) when I started, and about 20ºC (68ºF) when I finished. After the brutality of summer, this was indeed cool weather. I'd kept my A/C off for most of the day; I'm sure it appreciated the rest after a summer of continuous use.

As I walked down Gaepo Street to the footbridge leading to the Tan Creek and the bike paths, I could feel my balance was a bit off. It was a bit like coming out of the hospital three years ago: weak like a toddler taking his first steps. I kept walking, but I could feel a cloak of fatigue already descending on me, and my resolve to walk 14K began to melt away. My mind wandered, casting about for some sort of sign from God to tell me to turn back. And I got my sign, only a few hundred meters from where I'd normally turn around on a 9K walk: when I looked over to the right at the Tan Creek, I saw that the bridge where I usually cross the creek had been blocked off to bikers and pedestrians, and the creek itself had flooded over the bank and the bike path (I was off the path, doing my introvert thing by walking through the long, long parking lot that's under a bridge that runs along the west side of the creek as it heads north to the Han). I briefly thought about continuing to walk on, but I reasoned that the next bridge down, the one right at the Tan/Han confluence, was also impassable, meaning I'd never be able to make it to the Jamshil Bridge. 

So, giving in to the tiredness that had accompanied me since the beginning of this star-crossed walk, I turned around at about the 4.2K mark and slogged back home. I hadn't stopped at all on the way to the turnaround point, but on the way back, I sat down twice, with shame more than a resurgence of energy finally pushing me to my feet and prodding me home. By the time I got back, it was 12:45 a.m., the next day. The whole 8.4K had taken me two hours. Slow pace.

All my thoughts were as bogged down as my body. It was hard to think David Goggins-style You can do it and You gotta want it thoughts; everything was an I can't or a Fuck this. And as I thought more about the sign from God and my fatigue and how far I still have to go before I'm ready for distance walking, I came to realize that it might be dangerous folly to do a long walk this year. I'm sure some of my friends will be relieved to hear this while more neutral readers might be mildly disappointed not to have the chance to read about my death on the trail from one of my brothers or from a friend like Mike or Charles. I think it might be more prudent to spend the year, until the fall of 2025, healing. I might do little segments of a long walk over the coming weeks, and I've been known to walk during the winter months. Healing from a heart attack doesn't prevent such things. But grinding on and on relentlessly for three weeks might not be the best idea. I'll heal up and get back in shape by the fall of next year, then I'll probably head to the States, and maybe to France and Switzerland, during next year's vacation. Kevin's Walk 8 won't be a thing until 2026, I fear. 

I'll be 57 in August of that year. How healthy will I be? Will I do doing the "walk" in a motorized chair, whirring my way to Andong while I drool in exhilaration?

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*The cashiers working the register and bagging my groceries at Shinsegae Food Market chirped at my walk tee: I was wearing my 2021 east-coast tee, i.e., the image of my least-favorite route. One cashier said to the other, "했나봐요!/Haet nab(w)ayo!", i.e, "He seems to have done that!" I smiled and nodded, playing the part of the modest hero and stifling the urge to launch into my usual tirade about how the east-coast route is better for bikers, not walkers, how it's loaded down with ugly civilization, filled with crass tourist traps, almost totally bereft of regular motels, Isengard-like with pollution-vomiting industry (Pohang/Ulsan come to mind), and pungent with unpleasant fishy smells from wharf after wharf. I took my groceries and left, the tee having served its conversational purpose.

**Once again, thanks to David for finding the guy selling these bandannas.