Cold Walks Pt. 2
I began walking in the Spring of 2020. I was locked away at home for months after contracting Covid19. I was afraid of everything. People scared me, doorknobs scared me. Oxygen itself scared me. It was bad enough having anxiety but the sinister layer of paranoia that Covid added was almost unbearable.
I was noticeably unhealthy physically. My mental health was in even worse shape. My diet consisted of whatever was around. I didn’t move much. I had just landed a new role and the entirety of my day was spent sitting at my laptop. Finally, I decided enough was enough. I needed to lose weight. I needed to get active. Most of all I needed to feel better.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Covid19 had taken away my confidence. Living in constant fear was exhausting. It was time I got out into the world regardless of the potential consequences. I even bought running shoes.
I would put on my running shoes and walk around my South Bronx neighborhood. I walked past the many project buildings. I avoided yards and yards of dog poop and broken glass on the sidewalks. I walked as far as my legs would take me.
This new hobby gave me a sense of accomplishment. I was working towards something. I had no idea what that ‘something’ was, but it was change. I desperately needed change. My mental health depended on it. So I walked around my ghetto neighborhood block by block until the internal monologue in my head started to become more of an optimist. Maybe I could make a positive change in my life. Maybe Covid19 wasn’t the end of the world.
