I’ve seen her in all kinds of weather: hot, muggy August
afternoons, frigid January evenings, crisp autumn days, gentle spring mornings.
In the face of blazing midsummer sunshine, drizzling rain, or spitting snow,
she’s out there trudging up and down Boonsboro Road and Rivermont Avenue, logging
her miles on Lynchburg’s north side. She covers a lot of ground in her walks. I’ve
spotted her from as far west as the Boonsboro Kroger and as far east as Riverside
Park—a good three miles apart.
Whatever the conditions or the time of day, her demeanor is never
changing, a steady determined pace paired to a face set in stoic concentration.
She neither smiles nor grimaces. She doesn’t look about. She just focuses on
the task at hand—her walking. I’ve never seen her pause or break stride. Her
legs move with the steady rhythm of a metronome. Hers is no casual stroll. She
walks with purpose and intent.
I know neither her name nor her story. I’m lousy at guessing
ages but she has clearly seen a lot of winters. Her hair is slate gray, her
face, wrinkled and weathered. Year round she boasts a healthy tan from her many
hours in the open air. Her eyes are bright and clear.
But whatever her story is, there is a tale of pain hidden
inside it. Because like a torpedoed ship that’s taking water, she lists to the
port. Her head and shoulder have a pronounced leftward tilt. Is she a
recovering stroke victim? Was she involved in some terrible accident? Does she
suffer from a birth defect that left her body forever twisted? I don’t know.
Many are the times that I have thought of stopping my car in
a quest for answers to my questions. I’d like to hear her story. But I’ve always
deferred. When I spot her she seems invariably to be going opposite my direction.
By the time I pulled over, parked the car, and crossed the street, she would be
hundreds of feet behind me and drawing away at a steady rate. Besides, it’s
really none of my business and she might just remind me of that fact. And who
knows what pain might accompany telling such a tale? Some experiences in life
are best left undisturbed, buried in the past.
Still, we all go about telling our stories, whether
intentionally or unwittingly. And that includes this nameless walker. By her
actions, her body language, the constancy of her walking, she has told me that
she is not a woman to be imprisoned by the pains of the past. She is not just a
defenseless victim of circumstances. She is disciplined. By her steady stride
she has taken control. She is claiming responsibility for her own future health
and vitality. She is silently proclaiming to the world that she will not be
kept down by circumstances.
I have also noticed that the time of day when she walks varies.
That suggests to me that she is living for more than her own health—that her
life is filled with other things—things that demand her time and around which
she has to plan in order to log her miles each day. And that suggest to me that
this is a well-rounded soul. It’s amazing what we can learn from the example of
just a solitary woman taking a walk.