In his book, Walkers, Miles Jebb reminds us exactly why walking is medically good for us:
It stimulates the muscles which assist the heart in circulating the blood, thus increasing the heart's efficiency and decreasing such dangerous things as cholesterol levels, clot formations, blood sugar, and hormone production. Also, through the exercise of the lungs, it improves the oxgenising capacity which, among other things, activates the brain cells. Besides this, it triggers off responses from the nervous system, so releasing tensions and providing an outlet for pent-up emotions. And it slows down the ageing process of bone-demineralisation, particularly in the legs and feet. All these attributes are more than ever important today when most urban people are overstimulated and underactive and grossly neglect their legs, those massive limbs which constitute over a third of normal body weight. Walking is thus the simplest and easiest way of keeping fit; and a brisk walk of around 4 miles an hour consumes about four times as much energy as a slow stroll, and about half as much as a moderate jog or run.
A little further on in the book, Jebb cites George Trevelyan, Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, who advocates the merits in walking alone, walking by night, and even losing one's way (!) He extols the usefulness of walking in the solution of personal and psychological crises, and of walking as medicine. Trevelyan's Essay On Walking begins like this: I have two doctors, my left leg and my right ...
I particularly like the idea that 'losing one's way' can somehow be beneficial - a good and valuable experience rather than a confusing and stressful one. I've often thought this myself. Indeed, I've been lost more times than I care to mention - not completely lost, but vaguely lost, a wee bit lost. Which, I think, is a rather pleasurable state to be in.
On my walks I'm frequently too lazy to keep looking at a map, and my map reading skills are more basic than refined, should we say. However, as long as you have a general idea where you are, and as long as you are not in a potentially dangerous situation - such as in the high mountains with night or bad weather approaching - being 'lost' for a while can be fun. You can call up all those forgotten, ancestral skills - navigating by the sun, moon, stars, and wind direction, interpreting the lie of the land with the physical senses rather than blindly and uncritically following some pre-prepared route or map. You suddenly become active rather than passive, a little more alive, more finely-tuned to what's going on around you. There's a raw immediacy, a delicious frisson in your interaction with the world which you don't get to the same extent if you stick religiously to a pre-planned route come hell or high water - and then panic if you accidentally stray.
In yesterday's post on Taormina I talked of 'intuitively guessing' my way back from the Virgin of the Rock into town. This kind of experience - when you're not really lost but are relying on instincts and split-second route choices to get you where you want to be - is a really attractive one, I find, and one I relish. Such tempting, serendipitous pathways can lead to secret, unexpected places you might never have found on the map, and you can have a really exciting adventure by following their siren calls.
I'm reminded of John Keats' concept of Negative Capability, which he defines as the state when man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason. Sometimes you just have to suppress the intellect, the rational organising mind, for a while ... and go for a walk ... with only a fuzzy idea about where you are going ...
