What do marmots, trains, and snakes all have in common? They can, under the right circumstances, cause an innocent passer-by to do an impersonation of an Olympic jumper (long-jump, high-jump, hurdles, or a heady combination of all three).
As I wrote several weeks ago, I’ve been doing a lot of walking since March, averaging five or more kilometres every day. I set out from the Journal office, and have tried several different routes and variations thereof, finally settling on one that takes me along the CP line to Mesa Vista Drive, goes up the hill to 97C, does a couple of loops before circling back down to the cemetery, goes for a pleasant detour by the river and through the cemetery, then heads back along the train tracks to the office.
It seems a very long time since I started walking, back when there was still snow falling. Not having done any meaningful exercise in a while, I wore whatever clothing I happened to have on that day and a pair of snow boots, but soon realized I needed something more suited to the task.
First up was a pair of proper shoes, and I was somewhat taken aback by the choices. No longer, it seems, do you look for a pair of sneakers and call it a day; instead there were court shoes, trail shoes, running shoes, tennis shoes, and more.
Being a literal-minded sort of person, I plumped for a pair of walking shoes, and while I can’t say they made me go any faster, they did make me feel more like a serious walker and less like someone who was only walking because their car was in the repair shop.
Bit by bit, more dedicated walking apparel found its way into my wardrobe: leggings, sleeveless tops, sport socks. Although not by nature someone given to wearing baseball caps, I dug one out of my cupboard and have appreciated it as the days grow brighter. Last Sunday, when I took part in Skip’s Run for the first time, someone said I looked like a runner, and I took it as high praise.
But the jumping! I hear you cry. What’s with that?
Well, there are marmots living near the railroad tracks, and they have a very effective warning system to alert others of their kind. It consists of an extremely loud, sharp whistle, and more than once they have let it blast just as I passed near, causing me to jump, although not as high as I did on the occasion when I was crossing the CP tracks by the cemetery. Just as I entered the crossing the bell started sounding, and although the rational part of my brain knew I had more than enough time to get clear before the barriers came down, the part of my brain that controls fight or flight was having none of that. Jump and run, fast! it screamed, and I obeyed.
That, however, was nothing compared with a walk a couple of weeks ago, during our first spell of very hot weather. I was approaching the south end of the cemetery through a patch of rock-strewn dirt, thinking about not very much. Indeed, my thought process would have been along the lines of Home stretch … Nice bit of breeze … River’s very high … Interesting twig there, very smooth … ARRGGH IT MOVED!
Yes, dear reader, it was a snake; a garter snake, quite small, but again that fight or flight thing kicked in. I haven’t jumped that far, high, and fast since I was eight years old and cleared a neighbour’s fence while being chased by a dog. In my memory, I did so with all the grace and fluidity of an Olympic hurdler, and I’d like to think I looked the same two weeks ago, although I suspect an onlooker would have thought I was having a seizure.
I haven’t seen the snake since then, probably because I altered my route accordingly to avoid that area. Walking is more than enough exercise, thanks very much; I prefer to leave my jumping days in the past.
editorial@accjournal.ca
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