Walking with Dogs

I've lived in my house a little over a year, and I walk around my neighborhood a lot. I would guess that I've traveled a few hundred miles on these streets on foot. I tend to be out and about pretty early, so I don't see a large number of people on my walks. But I do run into a few, and sometimes I encounter some of the same people from week to week. I'll try to make eye contact, maybe nod and smile or say "hello" or "good morning." Occasionally I'll get a greeting in return, but most of the time the other walkers don't acknowledge me at all.

I have noticed a difference, though, when I walk with a dog. I don't have any pets of my own, but I pet-sit for family and have friends who occasionally bring their dogs along on our walks. It's funny, but when I'm walking with a dog, the other walkers are suddenly friendlier and more talkative. One day recently, a friend came over with her dog, and we set off for a walk around my neighborhood. As we walked and talked, we passed a neighbor I'd never met before who was in her front yard. She stopped us and asked the dog's name (it was Gracie), and began petting the dog. She then asked us to wait a moment while she went inside to get a treat for Gracie. I turned to my friend, a little stunned. My friend thought I must live in a friendly neighborhood, and I had to burst her bubble. "No one here ever talks to me," I muttered as the woman returned. She introduced herself and asked our names, promising to remember us if we walked by again. I think that was the only time I spoke to a neighbor in the prior 6 months.

The same thing happens when I'm out walking with my parents and their dogs. We get extra attention because one is a Dalmatian, so he's pretty noticeable. He is, in fact, quite popular with children in particular, who often began the interaction by saying, "Mom, look! It's the dog like from the movie, the dal...what's it called again?" They may struggle with the name, but they remember the spotted dog, and are especially eager to pet him and talk to him while the parents engage us in conversation. (And meanwhile my parents' other dog looks on impatiently, being completely ignored until someone finally notices her and asks, "Oh, your other dog - she's nice too.")

I've decided that somehow walking with a dog makes people seem less threatening and more approachable. It's rare that strangers speak to me when I walk along, but once I step out with a dog by my side, people are suddenly friendlier and more willing to smile and say hello. I mean, who doesn't love a furry, happy pooch? It's not that I mind being mostly ignored when I'm walking by myself - and in fact, I often enjoy the solitude. But it is nice to occasionally be reminded that there are other people around, even if they aren't attracted so much by my sunny personality as by the 4-legged companion by my side.

Do I Look Like the Welcome Wagon?

It happens to me more often than I would expect. I'm out for a walk, moving at a pretty good pace, basically minding my own business. Suddenly, a car approaches. I pause, then begin to make my way around the vehicle. The driver rolls down the window, pokes her head out, and says, "Excuse me, but we're lost. Can you give me directions?"

I don't mind helping people; in fact, I enjoy it. But there are times when these lost people aren't so appreciated. Sometimes I'm taking a nice, leisurely stroll, and I don't feel bothered by an interruption. At other times, though, I'm tempted to ignore them. One day, I was doing a long (as in 14 mile) training walk for an upcoming half-marathon. I'd already gone about 8 miles, and I was definitely feeling the miles and starting to lose steam. A couple in a pickup truck slowed and then stopped ahead of me. I figured they were parking so I moved over on the sidewalk to give them some room and started to walk by. "Sir?" they called out. (It must have been the hat I was wearing, along with my short hair. But calling a woman "sir" isn't the best start to a conversation when you want someone to help you.) I gritted my teeth and turned around. "Me?" I asked. Sheepishly, they explained that they were looking for directions to the interstate. I paused, trying to think. Wait, that was miles from here, and meant lots of twists and turns on back roads. "Well..." I said. "It's kind of hard to explain how to get there from here." The man was clearly unimpressed, and said "you must not have lived here long." I informed him that I had lived in the area for more than 10 years, thank you very much, gave him a bit of a look, and stomped off. I was still fuming a mile later, but at least I picked up my pace for the latter part of my walk. (And I'll offer a tip to any direction-seekers out there: insulting the person you're asking a favor from will generally not endear you to that person.)

Another time I was doing intervals, which meant I was more focused on my pace than usual. I was wearing headphones and listening to up-tempo music on my iPod to help me. A van pulled up from behind, the driver honking his horn. I ignored him, hoping he would get the hint. He didn't. Instead, he honked more persistently until I took off my headphones and looked at him with a sigh. He asked directions to a place he was nowhere near, so I told him he was miles away, but he should head thataway and ask someone else for directions farther down the road. (All of which begs the question: why do these people always seem really far away from their destinations when they're hopelessly lost?)

To be fair, not everyone who asks for directions is like these people. But still, many of them have no reservations about stopping a total (and sweaty) stranger. And when I'm wearing headphones, I have to wonder: do I look like I'm out for a pleasant stroll, hoping for a bit of conversation with anyone who happens to drive by? Still I do what I can, and am usually able to help people get where they're going. In fact, on one memorable occasion a couple was wandering around the local college campus looking for a particular building, and I (somewhat sweatily) offered them a slightly soggy campus map I happened to have in my pocket. They accepted gratefully... and I don't think it was that wet.

It's funny, though, because it never occurs to me to ask for directions from random pedestrians. Do I just have one of those faces? Maybe I seem sort of approachable (although on days I'm out for a training walk, I would imagine my expression often seems grim). I've been wondering if there's some way I can cash in on this ability I have. Maybe I can get kickbacks from local businesses for steering these lost souls their way. Hey, I think this idea might have potential...

President's Adult Fitness Test

I don't know about you, but I have not-so-fond memories of the President's Physical Fitness Test from my younger days. Back then, we spent a couple of PE classes each school year taking part in various activities like the 50 yard dash, the shuttle run, situps, the flexed arm hang (for girls, or pullups for boys), and the standing broad jump. I was never a particularly athletic child, and these tests just reinforced that I never would be. I remember the PE teacher standing with a clipboard, ready to record my efforts, with a shake of the head as I limped across the finish line. As I recall, we were measured on some sort of scale ranging from poor to excellent. I typically ranked in the poor to satisfactory categories, and would occasionally rate good for situps (for some reason I could always knock out a bunch of those). Meanwhile, the jocks in the class collected their awards at the end of the year, a certificate signed by the President showing how athletically accomplished they were.

I recently discovered that there's a President's Adult Fitness Test. It takes the idea of the torture...oops, I mean fitness tests...we did as kids and adapts them for adults. This time, though, the criteria seem to make a lot more sense to me. I never quite understood the purpose of the shuttle run, where we ran back and forth between two lines on the gym floor, stopping to pick up erasers and put them down at the next line. How that would help me later in life was a pretty big mystery, as far as I was concerned. But the criteria for this adult fitness test seem useful to me: the tests attempt to measure aerobic fitness, muscular strength and endurance, flexibility, and body composition. Those are solid, relatively easy to understand goals that contribute toward a healthy, active lifestyle. They're also a reminder to me that being active and fit require more than taking a walk every day. In order to be more well-rounded in my fitness efforts, I need to pay attention to strength training and stretching. It's additionally important to take a look at my body and weight with a critical eye, checking to see that I'm at a healthy weight and shape for my height and body type. So while I may never earn one of those coveted certificates from the president, it's possible that I can reach a level of health and fitness I can be proud of.

Functional Fitness

Ever since I bought a house about 18 months ago, I've been discovering the joys (and frustrations) of taking care of it. Back when I rented, I didn't have to deal with things like yard work, but now that I'm a homeowner, the responsibility is all mine. That's not a bad thing, and generally speaking, I enjoy spending time outside. I'm realizing, though, that activities like yard work require a different kind of fitness.

I am by no means a buff, toned fitness junkie. But I do think of myself as someone who's reasonably active, and I strive to get some form of exercise in every day. Still, I find that after I've spend just 30 minutes or so out in the yard raking leaves or picking up sticks, I'm sore the next day in places I forgot had muscles. I love walking for exercise, but I'm slowly realizing that I could stand to be more well-rounded in my fitness plan.

I've been thinking lately about functional fitness, which was all the rage a few years ago in gyms across the country. The basic idea is to train your body for everyday activities instead of preparing for a bodybuilding contest. To me, it's a concept that makes a lot of sense (and even more so on those mornings when I wake up sore from raking leaves). Rather than perform exercises that are designed simply to build muscle (not a bad goal in and of itself), why not do some that will build strength where I need it - and use it? For example, instead of a seated row, I could do one standing, which would strengthen my triceps by imitating a back and forth sawing motion - handy for trimming fallen limbs or sawing firewood.

I've always had a hard time getting motivated to do strength training, but I wonder if this functional fitness approach could finally do the trick. It's kind of a carrot and stick thing: I benefit by being able to get more done around the house, plus I avoid being sore every time I pull out the rake or saw. Maybe this could actually work.