I’ve become one of those people.
You know those people who track their step count on their phone or other form of wearable technology, obsessively setting higher and higher step count goals based on nothing in particular except for a random fixation on multiples of one thousand?
Yup. That’s me.
Don’t worry; I’m not the type to post images of my step counts to social media, or to walk around my house just to hit a step goal (okay, rarely) but I am an enthusiastic pedestrian.
A few things conspired to make this happen. The first few months of COVID made me more sedentary than I wanted to be. Also, as anyone with kids can attest, sometimes you just need to get out of the house so that you can think a little, without the hassle of small people constantly asking you when the next meal will be served.
But the biggest motivator was the simple discovery that my phone had been counting my steps for years without my realizing it. It had been there the whole time, innocently sitting in my pocket, tracking my steps, my distance walked, making graphs by the week, month and year.
Some people might be creeped out by a device spying on their physical movements in this way. Not me. I’m a sucker for data. Having all this data in my pocket, and the opportunity to make bigger numbers appear just by walking, was all the carrot I needed to get back to my love of walking.
One of my favourite things about walking is the feeling that I know my neighbourhood (and several neighbourhoods beyond my neighbourhood) better than I did before. I feel more connected to them; far more connected, ironically, than in pre-COVID times.
It’s fun seeing how different neighbourhoods dress themselves up for holidays. Which ones look the best when covered in snow. Which ones have the best trees in the fall. Which ones come alive most in the spring. These things aren’t as obvious when you experience them from a car, a bus, a subway, or even a bike.
If I’m not listening to a podcast or an audiobook, there are a few albums that seem tailored for evening walks. Spencer Zahn’s 2020 record Sunday Painter is my current favourite, and it opens with this stunning, floating, thoroughly hypnotic track.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. Although he often makes music as a solo electronic artist, this was Zahn’s first release as a band leader. Made with a number of talented collaborators, no song on the album is a vehicle for any particular instrument. Each instrument is a house worth looking at, but the neighbourhood they come together to create is more important.
2. The repeated six-note rising arpeggio gives the song a sedate but purposeful momentum, despite the lack of chord change for most of its five-plus minutes. Until…
3. …with only 53 seconds left, a sudden chord change brings the listener to a destination they were unaware they were headed towards.
Recommended listening activity:
Walking with no plan.