This morning I took my last morning walk — for a few months, at least. It was a crisp, clear morning, like countless others where I’ve started my day with a brisk 5 a.m. walk around the Yantis Loop in New Albany.
Tomorrow I’ll have surgery on the toes of my left foot. Joints will be shaved down, tendons will be rearranged, bones will be straightened, and steel pins will be inserted. I’ll have to keep my left foot elevated for a few days, to keep the foot from swelling to the size of a pumpkin, and then won’t be able to put any weight on it for a few weeks. My recuperation period will end with a few more weeks in one of those fashionable walking boots.
I’ll miss my morning walks. I’ll miss their deep feeling of peace and solitude, I’ll miss the sense of routine and structure they bring to my days, and I’ll miss the chance to collect my thoughts and let my mind wander as I ramble along. I’ll miss the exercise, too.
But I’ll gladly trade a few months of my walks to do what’s necessary to avoid my left foot looking like the gnarled and twisted roots of an old oak tree.