A New Activity in the Old Age.

In my first decade on Earth I learnt to walk and talk, though most of my friends wish I hadn’t learnt the later. In the second decade I learnt to speak English with an accent that still flummoxes most listeners and graduated from an elite technical institution. Next ten years saw me take two post graduate degrees, marry a fine English woman and move to Libya. My thirties were blessed with three wonderful daughters and our final emigration to Canada via the United States. Forties saw me prosper in business and save enough for a comfortable retirement. Pendulum swung in the fifties, my savings disappeared as the retirement loomed and the daughters moved to far away places. In the sexy sixties I retired, assumed the persona of a fiction writer and published a collection of stories. On the flip side the family survived severe illness of three family members. Now in seventies I have a serious issue. What can I do that I have not done before and is a contribution to the community. I have written a novel, a new book is with the printer and several stories are looking for publishers. But all this is old hat – a continuation of what I have been doing for a while. A month ago the answer to my prayer arrived from an unexpected source.

Keith, an old friend who had lost his very dear wife to ALS a few years ago sent us an invitation to join Betty’s Walk and Run on a Sunday morning to support ALS Society of Alberta. Evelyn, my wife, participates in several volunteer activities but I have avoided them as an unnecessary demand on my time and meager resources. However, on this occasion, perhaps due to my own fear of the onset of senility, I agreed to walk five kilometers in Glenmore Park which happens to be within a walking distance from our humble abode. But one can’t just go and walk in the park. You have to register for it on the internet. The website mentioned on the invitation led me to a Walk on the same day and I duly registered for it. No sooner had I clicked submit, I realized that the location did not seem right. Moreover, it was free while Betty’s Walk had a registration fee. A little investigation led to the correct website. I duly registered for both of us, paid $33 each for registration and printed out the receipts.

We woke up in good time for a leisurely breakfast of poached eggs, walked over to the park and collected our T-shirts before the start of the walk at 10AM. After a week of steady rain the sky had cleared. The sun was bright, temperature comfortable and breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay. We chatted with Keith and met his family. Then about one thousand people, young and old, men and women, some in prams, a few in wheel chairs, started walking alone, as couples or in groups of four to twenty along the bank of the reservoir on Elbow River. The reservoir was almost dry, its bed picturesque with curling rivulets and a tapestry of green vegetation and brown sand with the background of snow capped mountains in the distance and blue sky with clouds like silver discs of assorted sizes and shapes. There was a duck swimming with eight ducklings in tow and a miscellany of birds floating or flying over the reservoir. The scene was as beautiful as any pastoral view. After about forty minutes of an amble rather than a hike we reached the point of return, the west end of the reservoir. A table had been set up to offer water in paper cups to those who wanted it and almost every one did.

The return ramble was more relaxed. After a few minutes we sat down on a bench to watch the walkers go by, some in a rush to get to the church on time others strolling as if they had no care and all the time in the world. After our legs were ready to support us we started again only to stop a while later to watch a heron standing in water waiting for its lunch to come swimming. It had more patience than we did; after a few minutes we resumed our walk. We met Keith and his group at the Finish line an hour and a quarter after we had started. The first batch of runners were returning after eight kilometers run having set off half an hour later than we did for our five kilometre walk. We consoled ourselves with the thought that the runners were much younger than us although I do not remember ever running one kilometer leave alone eight.

We were home two hours after we had left. We had our customary cup of tea in the patio and slumped in easy chairs. I felt quite pleased with myself and decided that it was something I should do more often. One is never too old to learn and walking for good causes should be a nice addition to new activities in my eighth decade.