The only 3 things I don't like about summer

When you live in the Great Lakes region of the U.S. as I do, you spend a good chunk of the year looking forward to summer (which as far as I'm concerned begins today).

We only get four months of truly warm temperatures, so it's a big deal when they finally arrive.

And by the way, referring back to the opening paragraph, I live in Lake County, Ohio, about 3 miles from the southern shore of Lake Erie. Thus, I live in the Great Lakes region and not in the Midwest.

Yes yes, I know we're considered part of the Midwest for purposes of the U.S. Census, but I firmly believe we are more accurately classified as Great Lakers in geography, accent and temperament.

Anyway...

We here spend so much time looking forward to warm summer breezes that we idealize the season to an unrealistic degree. As if summer is the perfect state of being and there is no more desirable plane of human existence.

I'm almost onboard with that perspective except for a few things:

(1) I'm a regular walker. One of those arm-swinging fast walkers, in fact. I'm on the road four and sometimes five mornings a week. In the winter when I get home from a brisk walk and shed my hat, gloves and sweatshirt, it feels good. In the summer, I have nothing to shed at the end of a walk besides my reflective vest, and I sweat. I keep on sweating, even after showering. Doesn't matter if we have our air conditioning on full blast, I'm going to sweat for an hour after a summer morning walk. I don't like that.

(2) Summer means the return of Compost Paul. Compost Paul is the name of the plastic bin we keep on our kitchen counter in the warmer months. It holds food scraps destined for our outdoor compost bin ("Compost Paul" being a slight variation of "Compost Pail"). Compost Paul fills up fast, and quite often I'm the one who fills him up. Which means I need to be the one to carry him out to the bin, empty him, and rinse him out. I dislike this chore, and I consider it a black mark against the whole summer season.

(3) I spend an inordinate chunk of the summer worrying about the end of summer. I'm not kidding. The calendar turns to July 1st and all I can think is, "Summer is already half over. School starts next month. Oh no!" This is insane, and I realize it's the very definition of a me problem. Still, a big black cloud seems to hang over my summers, as if every day is a Sunday and I'm going to back to work the next morning. I may need some therapy.

All the same, welcome back, summer. You were (mostly) missed.

When the only thing separating you from a fun hobby is motivation and effort

Until recently when I sold them, I owned three saxophones: an alto, a baritone, and a 100-year-old C melody. I kept them in my office/computer/music room upstairs.

I loved playing them, but I never actually did.

I also have a telescope in our basement storage room that I've used to observe the craters of the moon, the rings of Saturn, and the moons of Jupiter. I'm always amazed at what I see through the viewfinder, but I haven't brought it out in probably two years.

This is not to mention the shelves full of books I don't read or the running gear that sits unused in my closet because all I do these days exercise-wise is lift weights and walk.

What unites all of these activities is the fact that (a) I enjoy them, and (b) I never seem to do them.

And the only reason I don't do them is because I can never seem to drum up the motivation.

Not that any of them requires extraordinary motivation and effort. The worst thing with the saxophones, for example, was getting them out of the case, putting them together, and warming them up so I could play music.

This isn't difficult, but it was apparently a barrier to entry for me because whenever I thought about playing, I would instead decide that another game of solitaire on my phone was preferable to, you know, actually walking up the stairs and pulling out one of my horns.

The telescope is even easier to use. Just bring it up from the storage room, go out in the driveway and point it at the sky. I know how to find stuff from there, but...well, I'm on the couch petting the cat, you see, and that's a whole lot easier.

I'm realizing that life would be more fun if I could force myself to give the slightest effort whenever I'm not working or engaged in some household chore.

Is this because I'm 55 years old? Am I stuck in some sort of rut? Or has my iPhone turned me into a slug?

The answer is probably yes to all three.

Here's the good news, though: I'm very close to buying myself a nice, intermediate-level alto sax from my instrument repair and sales guy, Jon-O. And when I do, I plan to play it regularly. At least once a week.

Really, I will.

Of course, the saxophone requires a lot of air and mental energy, neither of which my phone's Yahtzee app requires of me, so...you know...maybe it's still kind of a toss-up.

The deer on my morning walks are not at all impressed by me

I spend so much of my morning walks this time of year worrying about skunks that I sometimes forget about the deer.

Deer are very common where I live (they may be common where you live, too). This is a significant change from my years growing up in a suburban neighborhood with closely packed houses. Back then, deer sightings were real events. I remember deer roaming onto our street maybe three times during the 22 years I lived there.

Now, with the deer population in Northeast Ohio generally rising, and with us living in a somewhat more rural (though still decidedly suburban) area, deer are as common as dogs. Or at least it seems that way.

Being out on the road walking/jogging five mornings a week, I come across the various deer families in our neighborhood quite often, especially in the fall.

I see them in the spring and summer, too, but for whatever reason they seem more prevalent in October and November. On one recent morning I came across four different groups/families during my 2.3-mile jaunt.

Their fur is darker this time of year, and I never knew why until I just looked it up. Apparently the darker coat helps them better absorb the warmth of the sun ("solar gain") during a season when sunlight becomes a decidedly iffy proposition around here.

The males also have antlers now, of course. And while I've never had one act aggressively in any way toward me, I give those spiky-headed bucks a wider berth.

For their part, the deer react to me in one of two ways. They're either skittish and run away at the first sign of me. Or, more commonly, they eye me warily but stand their ground as I pass by.

Some seem genuinely interested in figuring out exactly what I am, but mostly I'm just a momentary distraction. As long as I'm not a threat – and it usually takes them about three seconds to realize I'm not – they don't care about me that much.

Which I suppose is the way of things.

I would happily pet them if they would let me, but they have no real interest in coming closer...even the ones who aren't scared of me.

So I confine my animal petting to our two cats, Ginny and Molly. To their credit, those girls do appreciate me, maybe because I'm the one who provides them fresh food and water every day, as well as being someone who is always willing to give them a scratch behind the ears.

It helps that neither has antlers. The power dynamic in our house would change noticeably if they did.

I would die if I tried reading while walking

A couple of years ago, I posted here about the neighborhood characters I regularly encounter on my morning walks. The lineup included Hound Dog Guy, Nightgown Woman and Relentlessly Waddling Lady.

I still see Hound Dog Guy with some frequency, but I'm not sure if the latter two are on a different schedule or what. I don't run across them anymore.

Recently I added a fascinating new character to the list. I call her Reading While Walking Woman, and while that's not her in the photo (she's not that well dressed, though who is at 6 in the morning?), the image pretty well illustrates her M.O.

Whenever I see her, RWW Woman is holding a book in one hand while swinging her other arm and moving along at a pretty fast clip. She sticks to the sidewalk, from what I can tell, and I assume she pauses from reading whenever she comes to an intersection.

Still, that doesn't account for uneven pavement or small-but-potentially-dangerous objects in her path she might easily miss. It also assumes a level of coordination I'm not sure I possess.

I like books and I like walking, so I combine the two by listening to audiobooks while I'm out and about. This frees my eyes to watch out for cars, skunks, skittish deer and other hazards of the early morning walking trade.

If I were to hold a book in front of my face while walking at a 13-minute mile pace, I would have about a 50% chance of falling every time out. I would either trip over something or simply lose my sense of balance while trying to concentrate on Sydney Carton's thoughts as he goes bravely to the guillotine at the end of A Tale of Two Cities.

If I was lucky, it would happen in a relatively flat area of my walking route and I wouldn't be too much the worse for wear. In reality, it would probably happen near the bottom of Miller Avenue and I would tumble over the small guardrail into the ravine far below, likely never to be heard from again.

I am at once amazed and baffled by Reading While Walking Woman. She never seems to have any external injuries, so it appears she has somewhat mastered her craft.

Or maybe she is just one slip and fall away from becoming a gruesome front-page headline in the next day's News-Herald.

What I'm willing and not willing to do to live a healthy lifestyle

I like to read books about longevity and health. Dr. Michael Roizen is my favorite author in the space, though there are many others – Drs. Joel Fuhrman and Neil Barnard come to mind – who are also go-to sources for this type of information.

Of course, there's a difference between reading about healthy living and, you know, actually following through on it. If you were to ask people who know me well, they would say I am generally a fairly healthy individual. But I'm more acutely aware of the areas in which I fall short than those in which I'm compliant with the latest recommendations around diet, exercise, stress management, etc.

And now in my early (rapidly approaching middle) 50s, I am largely at peace with it all.

At some point, you have to decide what you're willing to sacrifice in the name of better health and what less-than-healthy indulgences you want to maintain in your life. And connected with that, you have to be ready to accept the consequences of those less-than-healthy choices.

I don't mean to suggest that healthy = boring/difficult/burdensome, by the way. That's not necessarily the case.

But the fact is, many of us naturally prefer the bag of chips over the carrot sticks, and sitting on the couch over getting out and walking.

Over the past 15 years, I've had four what I would call "significant" weight losses of 20 or more pounds each. The biggest of those came in 2016, when I started around 217 and got down as low as 166, which in retrospect was way too low for me.

Yet, if you go by the BMI charts – and believe me, I'm well aware of the limitations of BMI as a measurement of overall health – 166 pounds for someone my height is within 10 pounds of being "overweight." So what's the answer?

As I type this, I'm approaching significant weight loss #5. I've dropped about 17 pounds since the first of September through my method of choice, Weight Watchers. It's a system that works well for me whenever I make up my mind to follow it.

I also benefit from the gender biology of weight loss, in which men generally have an easier time dropping pounds than women do. You ladies get screwed in a lot of ways, and this is one of them.

Last Saturday when I weighed in at the local Weight Watchers studio, the scale read 187.2. My official WW goal weight, as prescribed by my primary care doctor a decade ago, is 185. Once I get there, I'll switch to maintenance mode and try to stay around that number for...well, for the rest of my life.

Because you see, when you're someone who has had a number of successful weight losses, it also means you're someone who each time has put the pounds back on. I have never in my adult life been able to maintain a healthy weight for more than a year at a time. So my next big challenge is learning how to keep myself where I should be in terms of overall body mass.

I'm willing to make the mental and physical sacrifices necessary to do that. In fact, here is a complete list of the things I'm willing to do to live as a healthy person:

• Cardio: I power walk (usually just over 12 minutes/mile) five days a week, generally covering a total of 12 miles every seven days. I'm very consistent with this, and it's largely because I love getting out and moving.
• Eat leafy greens, beans, nuts, fruits and veggies: These are all staples of my daily diet, as they should be.
• Don't smoke: Not a problem. True story - I've never even tried it. Not even once. I have never inhaled smoke from anything and have no desire to try it.
• Keep my weight down: See above.

Those are admirable, but they do not cover all of the bases, health-wise. There are other habits we should be forming if we want to live longer, happier lives, at least from a physical standpoint. Here are the things I should be doing that I'm not:

• Strength training: The truth is, I hate lifting weights. I just despise it. I know I should be doing it, I know it has amazing benefits. Yet I can't seem to get myself to do it with any regularity. It's the one thing on my "bad" list that I hope to change. Maybe it will be my 2023 resolution.
• Meditation: I don't "feel" like I'm stressed, but the recommendation is that we should all be doing something to manage stress in our lives. Deep breathing is another popular technique. I don't make the time to do any of it.
• Getting enough sleep: I rarely sleep more than 7 hours, and most of the time it's more like 6 to 6 1/2 for me. I feel OK, though, or at least I think I feel OK, since there may be a higher level of "OK" of which I'm not even aware that I would experience if I just went to bed earlier. But as well as I sleep, I just don't love it as much as a lot of people do. I would rather be up and doing stuff. If there was a way to live without sleeping, I would jump on it. As it is, I should be getting more shuteye.
• Inserting even more healthy foods into my diet: I love fish, but I rarely eat it. Too much trouble buying and cooking it. I also don't do a good job with the "healthy gut" foods like yogurt, kimchi, etc., nor do I drink nearly enough water.
• Having a social life: I hang out mostly with Terry and my son Jack, the two people with whom I live. You're supposed to have a wider social circle than that, and men in particular tend not to be very good about building and maintaining friendships. I don't know, there doesn't seem to be enough time, though I know the reality is that I could make time if I really wanted.

I could go on, but the point is, I miss the mark on more items health-wise than I hit. That doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I'm doing what I can manage, and if that means a few years off the end of an otherwise healthy and happy life, so be it.

Or at least that's what I say now. Check back with me in another decade or two.

It's that time of year when I have to deal with skunks on my early-morning walks

I'm out power walking most mornings these days. I usually hit the road by 6am and follow a 2.3-mile loop around Miller and West Miller avenues.

It's a beautiful time for morning walks, too, given the conditions. I love 50 degrees and dry, as it often is in Northeast Ohio in early October.

The flip side is that this is also the time when the skunks come out.

I don't know why, but while I never see a skunk in my neighborhood over the summer, they're suddenly out in full force every morning come, say, mid-September. For the next couple of months, there will be more mornings when I see a skunk than mornings I don't.

I assume they're foraging for food. I don't begrudge them that.

But I'm still terrified of them.

I know, I know, they eat insects and small rodents that can wreak havoc. And they're valuable members of the food chain and it's the Circle of Life and blah blah blah.

None of that changes the intrinsic evil of the skunk.

Many of the skunks seem to congregate on the West Miller part of my walk. Once I set foot on that street, I tense up and start scanning the sides of the road for the tell-tale white stripe and low-to-the-ground ambling of Mephitis mephitis.

It's dark when I walk, so there have been times when I've come within 10 feet of a skunk before we both realize the other is there.

I stop in my tracks, while he/she lifts his/her head and raises his/her tail.

Ten feet, you see, is the range a skunk can spray. I back away from the encounter much faster than I walk into it, believe me.

My biggest fear is being right on top of a skunk before I know it's there and getting blasted.

One time, back in my running days, I was cruising down Euclid Avenue at 5:30 in the morning on garbage day, which meant everyone's trash cans were set out on the sidewalk, just a foot or two from where I was running. A skunk looking for breakfast came out from between two cans just as I passed by and my foot grazed his head.

I saw him at the last possible second and took off sprinting. When I came back through that area 15 minutes later on the return part of my loop, the smell of skunk spray was intense. He had reacted to our surprise encounter with the best defense nature had given him.

So anyway, I've taken to changing my walking route most October mornings, though that doesn't guarantee skunk-free status. They can be anywhere this time of year (and it doesn't help that many of the streets in my neighborhood have minimal street lighting and/or street lights timed to turn off while it's still dark).

"Walk later in the day, then," you might say. That would help, but my schedule doesn't usually allow for it. I work all day, and evenings are almost always taken up with some sort of activity. Early morning is my exercise window, so I've got to take advantage of it.

I'm not at all a fan of treadmills – though I'll use them in a hotel when I'm traveling – so I don't consider that an option.

The only thing I can do is stay alert and pray Terry will let me back into the house should I ever end up on the unfortunate end of a skunk spraying attack.

I would rather wear a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey than have that happen. And believe me...that's saying something.

(NOTE: It occurred to me after I wrote this that, while skunks can be a nuisance for walkers and runners, I still don't have to deal with the fear of being assaulted by another human being as my female walking and running counterparts do. They have to live with (and prepare for) that possibility every day, while the chances of it happening to me are much, much lower. They undoubtedly have it worse. I'll take the possibility of a skunk encounter any day over that.)

Another winter of potential injury looms

I've always considered it a point of pride that I get outside to walk/run/amble year-round, regardless of the conditions.

This is easy during Northeast Ohio summers, which at worst are maybe a touch warm and humid at 5:30 in the morning when I'm out there.

It is another matter in mid-January, when we have stretches that make you think we live in Alaska.

It's admittedly a bit early to be thinking about this, but in a couple of short months, most of my morning constitutionals will be taken over the frozen and slippery pavement of Miller Avenue and West Miller Road. These conditions make for treacherous movement on flat ground, but throw in the two big hills on this loop and it gets even hairier.

In the 18+ years we've lived in this neighborhood, I've fallen three times while exercising. And only one of those left a mark, which was a black eye I wore proudly for a week or so. The other two times I just laughed about it.

It's generally safer for me now that I walk more than jog, but it's still power walking, and I still try to keep a pretty fast pace when I can.

The obvious solution is to buy a treadmill, and we've talked about that. But the only place to really put it is in our basement, which has very low ceilings. You can buy low-deck models for this type of scenario, but none I've come across seem to be of especially good quality.

Plus, while I do go on hotel treadmills when traveling, I find them to be absolutely soul-sucking. I would much, much rather be outside, even if there's risk of a tumble.

Of course, I say that now at age 51. Check back with me in 20 years.

A few more falls and I'm likely to have a different answer by then.

I am fascinated by two new characters in my neighborhood

I have previously brought up the fact that, on my morning walks/runs, there is a relatively fixed list of people I encounter. From the stars of the past (Cologne Guy, Relentlessly Waddling Lady) to the current lineup of characters (Hound Dog Guy, Nightgown Woman), I feel like I know these folks intimately, even though we've never done more than nod politely to one another as we pass.

There are two recent additions to the list about whom I've been thinking a lot.

One is a lady I've dubbed Mushmouth. It has nothing to do with how she speaks – I've never actually talked to her – but rather derives from the fact that she always wears a large floppy hat pulled down very low, to the point that you can't see her face.

The name comes from this character on the old Fat Albert cartoon:

It may be 95 degrees outside, but Mushmouth can be seen walking up and down Rockefeller Road with that hat. And regardless of the weather conditions, she is always bundled up and appears to be leaving on some sort of Arctic expedition.

I am brimming with questions about her, but mainly I admire her toughness and ability to log so many miles while undoubtedly working up quite a sweat underneath all of those clothes.

Oh, and she also carries a purple umbrella (again in all weather conditions) which she occasionally uses as a parasol.

I'm stumped.

I'm also amazed at the abilities of Orange Sweatshirt Man. He's not really new to the list, but he has made so many appearances this year that I only just got around to officially adding him.

OSM is an older gentleman who rides his bike all over Wickliffe, Willoughby, and Willoughby Hills. I've seen him in many different places as I drive, but most sightings have occurred near my house, again on Rockefeller Road.

One time I saw he and Mushmouth pass each other. Neither one acknowledged the other, but you could feel that something special had just happened.

OSM is a beast on that bike, and I'm not kidding. He rides up the very steep Rockefeller Road hill and barely breaks a sweat doing it. And much like Mushmouth, he wears the same clothes (sweatshirt, hat, long pants) no matter the conditions. He has to be well into his 60s if not his 70s.

I get the impression he is tougher than you and me combined.

When the zombie apocalypse comes, I want both of these people on my side.

The smell of pipe tobacco, four decades later

You know what they say about certain smells triggering the deepest memories? It's true, in my experience, and recently I was powerfully reminded of it.

I've told you how I go out walking very early most mornings, which generally means I don't come across many people. I was walking around 5:30 in the morning the other day when the scent of burning pipe tobacco suddenly filled my head.

Someone nearby was clearly smoking a pipe. I surmised it was someone standing on the porch of one of the houses I was walking past, though it was still so dark I couldn't make out anyone.

No matter, though, as that smell instantly transported me back to a very specific time in the late 1970s. I would wake up on a Saturday morning and go into the kitchen, and almost inevitably my dad would be sitting at the table playing solitaire (the real kind, non-electronic) and smoking his pipe.

He kept the tobacco in a zip-up leather pouch. Sometimes I would open the pouch and take a big whiff because I loved the smell of it. It didn't smell quite as good when it burned, but it still wasn't nearly as unpleasant as the unavoidable stench of cigarettes that was seemingly everywhere back then.

I also associate a certain sound with that smell—the sound of shuffling cards. Dad had a lot of experience playing cards, so he was a very good shuffler.

Shuffling cards and pipe smoke. Those were the Saturday morning sensory soundtrack of my youth. For a few seconds as I walked, I was taken back to that time.

My dad has been gone more than 20 years, but as far as I was concerned, he was right there with me. It was 1978, and the only two things ahead of me that day were a morning of cartoons and an afternoon playing with my friends.

It only lasted a few seconds, but it was nice. In a moment I snapped back to reality and turned my attention back to the World War I podcast to which I was listening. The rest of the walk was that much more pleasant, though.

Heartfelt thanks to the person who was smoking that pipe. It's not a healthy habit, but I'll admit, you made my day.

I am the James T. Kirk of suburban dad walkers

A few months ago, I told you about the two-week, 250-mile walk I plan to do this coming June. The walk will take me from Dansville, a village in Western New York, to Olmsted Township, Ohio, the headquarters of my employer Vitamix.

It all has to do with our company's 100th anniversary, and the reasons for it are explained in that linked post above.

As you might imagine, with less than 11 weeks to go before I begin this journey, I am walking a significant number of training miles. Usually 40+ miles a week, which includes what are now double-digit-mile Saturday/Sunday long walks.

When you're going to be logging 15-20 miles a day for 14 consecutive days, your body and brain need time to adjust. A 250-mile walk is no joke.

I am pushing myself through this training schedule in a way I have not pushed myself since I ran my one and only full-length, 26.2-mile marathon back in 2001. Some days my body is up for the challenge, other days not so much.

But I still walk through the not-so-much days because I have decided I cannot fail. I will not fail.

It quickly becomes a battle between me and my body. And it's very much like an episode of Star Trek.

ME (Capt. Kirk): Legs, the pace is slowing. Give me more.

MY LEGS (Engineer Montgomery "Scotty" Scott): WE CAHN'T GIVE ANYMUHR, CAPTUHN! THERE'S NUTHIN' LEFT!

ME: You will increase the pace. NOW.

MY LEGS: YOU DUN'T UNNERSTAN', CAPTUHN. WE'RE GIVIN' YA ALL THEY'VE GOT!

ME: So help me, if you don't start walking faster this minute, I will take off these lycras and let you freeze in the icy 30-degree Northeast Ohio morning.

MY LEGS: BUT THEN YUH'LL BE NAKED, CAPTUHN!

ME: Then maybe you'll learn your lesson! I am James Tiberius Kirk, king of the suburban streets! You will listen to me and you will listen good! Kirk out...

With that crisis solved, I suddenly hear from my eyes, the Lieutenant Uhura of my body whose job it is to communicate potential crises.

MY EYES: Captain, I detect steep hills ahead. Given that we just did a tough hill workout yesterday and the legs are reporting trouble, perhaps we should change our route.

ME: Another mutinous crew member! I will not wuss out. Keep your little warnings to yourself, Lieutenant.

MY EYES: Fine...jerk.

ME: What did you say?

MY EYES: Nothing, Captain.

ME: That's right you didn't.

As I hobble into the driveway and enter my home, this is when the Mr. Spock of my life, my wife Terry, enters the picture. I report to her proudly that I have completed today's long walk, though I may be experiencing intense leg fatigue, which is really nothing.

By the way, this seems like a good time to show you a video. One of the places Terry and I visited on our honeymoon back in 1992 was Universal Studios in Orlando. While there, I coaxed her into recording a simulated "screen test" in which I played Captain Kirk and she played Mr. Spock, and we were digitally inserted into scenes with many of the original Star Trek characters (or at least as well "digitally inserted" as theme park technology could support back then).

Terry not only had to act, she also had to wear pointy Vulcan ears. It was one of the top 5 greatest moments of my life. Take a look:

Wasn't that great? I will admit my portrayal of Kirk will not win me any awards, but really, I feel like Terry as the Vulcan was the real star anyway.

Terry hears my tale of woe and responds in true wet blanket, Mr. Spock fashion.

TERRY: Maybe you should take a day off.

ME: I will hear no talk of days off! Do you know who I am? I say when it's time to take a day off, and no one else. Now excuse me while I go smother my legs in Ben Gay

And so on. This all happens constantly, and I'm happy to say that, so far, I am injury-free and pushing ahead.

It could all still end badly, of course, but I will continue going where no middle-aged dad has gone before (except for the ones who have).

I actually have hobbies now and that's an accomplishment

I have long lamented my inability to relax. It's not that I feel constantly stressed out (that actually happens relatively infrequently). It's just that I always have this drive to accomplish something, to check something off the to-do list, to make the most of my time.

You could argue very convincingly that relaxing is making the most of your time, and that as humans we need our relaxation. I just hate to have chores/tasks hanging over my head, so I'm always running to get stuff done.

Or at least that's how it was for many years. I'm still like that to some degree, just not as hardcore as I used to be. Ever since I finished my master's degree last summer, I've made an effort to engage in true leisure time activities.

And I have a few now. Like playing my saxophone, for example.

I bought a gorgeous new tenor sax recently (I'll blog about it sometime soon), and I'm enjoying regular playing and practicing time. Over the holiday break I read a book that is apparently much revered in saxophone circles called "Developing a Personal Saxophone Sound." It was a revelation to me.

The book goes into very technical detail on how to create the sort of tone that professional players make. I never understood how they did it until now, and it slowly dawned on me that in 41 years of playing the instrument, I learned only how to blow into the instrument and finger notes.

Only now am I learning to make music and really control the horn. It's a long process, but I'm enjoying it.

I'm also reading other nonfiction. I made it through Hew Strachan's 350-page "The First World War" over the break and am currently enjoying "The War Poems of Wilfred Owen," which my daughter Elissa and her boyfriend Mark gave me for Christmas.

I also walk quite a bit, as I've mentioned, and am continuing my immersion into the core classical music repertoire.

None of these activities gets the dishes washed, the bathroom cleaned, or the laundry done, and that's a good thing. They feed the soul, which is what we all need.

I will not, however, collect stamps. Tried that back in the early 80s and it's not for me. But classical music CDs? I have a couple hundred of those, to the point that the CD rack in the basement is ready to tip over.

I couldn't be happier about it.

These are the characters I encounter on my morning walks

I walk almost every morning, and I always do it along one of six or so predetermined routes. This is my routine, and as a consequence, I often intersect with others who have their own routines.

Back when we lived on East 300th Street, the person I most frequently came across was Cologne Guy. He was an older gentlemen who took a brisk daily walk along Route 84. We would exchange friendly hellos, and as I ran past him (I was running back then), I would always get a sniff of his English Leather cologne. It was not unpleasant, but I never understood why he made himself so fragrant before going out on a walk.

In more recent years I've often seen Relentlessly Waddling Lady. She is not a fast walker, but she is a persistent one. She is also very nice. I don't see her much in winter, though.

There is also Hound Dog Guy, and here I find myself a bit confused. Hound Dog Guy walks his dog a lot, though it turns out the dog is actually a beagle mix. At one point my family and I thought it was a hound dog, but even after we got some clarity on the breed, the Hound Dog Guy moniker was too well established to discard.

Anyway, I see Hound Dog Guy quite a bit, but I also regularly see a guy walking around my neighborhood without a dog, and I honestly don't know whether it's Hound Dog Guy without his dog or another man altogether who just happens to look like Hound Dog Guy. This has gone on for years and I still can't say for sure whether this is one man or two men who look alike.

Farther down my street is Nightgown Woman, though I only see her if I get up later than normal, as she tends to walk a bit later in the morning. In the summer she wears her nightgown while she walks. Really. I think she just wakes up, gets out of bed, and heads straight out the door to walk, appearances be damned.

One of the most enigmatic figures is Walking Jewish Lady. I don't say this to be disparaging in any way. She gets her name from the fact that I'm fairly certain she is one of the Orthodox Jewish people who live on the west end of Wickliffe. She wears a head covering that almost looks like a nun's habit, and she always walks in a skirt or dress.

And she walks a lot. I see her all over the place and I know she recognizes me. At most, though, my friendly "good morning" is met with a slight smile from her and never any sort of verbal reply. This could be a cultural/religious thing (not talking to a strange man), and she certainly is not rude about it. In any case, she is an impressive walker.

Lately I've seen Small Running Girl quite a bit, though I shouldn't call her "girl" in that she is clearly not a girl, but rather a young woman. It's just that I use "Lady" and "Woman" in a lot of these character names and she immediately became Small Running Girl in my head. She is slight of stature but unflappable in her running as she traverses up and down the hills around my house. Back in my running days I was her, except I'm taller and not female.

I see and say hello to many others as I walk, depending on the time of day, but these are the regulars. I wonder if they have a name for me? I would be fine with Walking Sweatshirt Guy.

My heart appreciates my obsessive walking routine, but my gnarled feet do not

Last month, I mentioned that I'm planning to do a two-week, 250-mile walk from Dansville, New York, to Olmsted Township, Ohio, this coming June.

In order to prepare, I walk 5 miles every morning, rain or shine.

Or, given that it's January in Cleveland, "snow or shine." And if we're being honest, there ain't a lot of "shine" here on the North Coast these days.

Once the weather breaks in March, I'll start doing progressively longer Saturday morning walks, culminating in May when I plan to do back-to-back 18-milers as a sort of dress rehearsal for the real thing, which starts June 4th in Dansville.

But for now, it's 35 miles a week without fail. Most mornings I'm up at 5am, and once I get dressed to walk, feed the cats, scoop out their litter boxes, sweep around those boxes, go out and get the papers from the end of the driveway, get some water, and put on my walking shoes, I hit the road.

Given that I walk at a pace of anywhere from 14:30 to an even 15 minutes per mile, I finish almost every walk in somewhere between 1 hour, 10 minutes and 1 hour, 15 minutes.

This is obviously a healthy habit, and I pass the time listening to my beloved Battles of the First World War Podcast and various types of music.

My feet are the ones paying the price.

I was born with wide feet ("Fred Flintstone" feet, I've often called them), to the point that I definitely need a 2E width in most shoes and as much as a 4E with some brands.

Not every shoe comes in widths, though, so for years I've worn lots of shoes that were simply too narrow for my feet.

The result is permanent calluses and rock-hard heels that aren't exactly attractive to begin with.

Now, throw in all of this walking, and the devastation that is my feet is just hideous to behold.

I would show you a picture, but I value our relationship too much to subject you to that.

Terry got me one of those heel scrapers and Cracked Heel Repair ointment, and I do use them from time to time. But if you don't do it every day, it only helps so much.

My current walking shoes are 4Es that I probably shouldn't have bought, as they're really, really wide even for me. One side effect is that I have a nagging blister on the back of my right heel that is currently covered by a band-aid. I also have a deep crack in one of my big toe calluses that doesn't exactly feel great, but I've kind of learned to live with it.

I like to think I'm a cardiologist's dream and a podiatrist's nightmare.

I really should do something about this situation before Wilma and Pebbles start to notice.

In June I'm going to walk from Western New York to Cleveland, and I need to get in shape for it

It must be "250 Week" here on the blog. Yesterday I told you how I was duped out of $250. Today I'll fill you in on my plan to walk 250 miles.

So my company, Vitamix, will be celebrating its 100th anniversary in 2021. This surprises a lot of people, many of whom assume we couldn't have been around before 1980 or so. But it's true. Vitamix (which wasn't actually called Vitamix until the mid-60s) was founded in 1921 by William G. "Papa" Barnard, the great-grandfather of our current president and CEO Dr. Jodi Berg.

Since 2017, I have been planning the various elements of our 100th anniversary celebration in my role as Director of Communications. We'll be doing all kinds of things, both internally and externally, to mark this milestone, which only a very small percentage of businesses reach.

One of those activities is my little walk. Back in 1938, members of the Barnard family joined a man named Bernarr Macfadden on a 265-mile walk from Cleveland's Public Square to Macfadden's "Physical Culture Hotel" in the village of Dansville in western New York.

Macfadden was the Jack LaLanne of his day (if you're old enough to get that reference). He was preaching the benefits of exercise long before it was cool. He hosted these long-distance walks every year for a period of time in the 1930s, starting from a different city each time. 1938 marked Cleveland's turn.

Anyway, I plan to recreate the walk by myself this coming June. The thing is, the Physical Culture Hotel no longer exists, nor is Vitamix (then known as "The Natural Food Institute") based any longer in downtown Cleveland. So my plan is to start in Dansville and make my way westward to Vitamix HQ in Olmsted Township, Ohio. We'll promote my walk through our employee and public-facing social media and communication channels to try and bring some attention to the Vitamix 100th anniversary.

(By the way, the distance is slightly shorter than the 1938 walk because of the existence today of certain walkable roads that are more direct and weren't around 80 years ago.)

The trip should take me 15 days, assuming I can walk an average of 17 miles a day. This, it turns out, is no easy feat. Walking or not, that's a long distance to cover in one day when you have to get up again and do it the next day. And again the next day. And again the next day. And so on.

So I've been walking almost every day an average of 30 miles a week to build up my stamina. My training walks are almost always right around 15 minutes a mile. I would imagine we'll have to back that off to 16 minutes or more when the time comes in order to prevent injury, which is a real concern when you're 51 years old.

I also have to drop some weight. I have been steadily gaining since I was down to a very skinny (for me) 166 pounds back in 2016. I'm off to a good start there, but there are still pounds to shed so that I can minimize the impact on my joints from so much walking.

There are perhaps two morals to this story:

(1) You should always try crazy things. It will keep you young, at least in your head.

(2) Don't allow yourself to get out of shape because getting back into it when you're no longer in your 20s is tougher than you would think.

My only concerns? Getting enough coffee every day and figuring out where to pee while I'm walking (these two things obviously go hand in hand).

Running, walking, whatever...we all just need to move more

You know that whole thing about getting 10,000 steps a day and how important it is? Yeah, that's actually real.

Not the exact "10,000" number. That's kind of arbitrary.

It's the idea of moving a whole lot more than we Americans do now. We tend to be a very sedentary people. Not all of us, of course, but a whole lot of us.

I'll bet that most people overestimate the number of steps they get in a day unless they wear a pedometer and already know. Because if you're going to go for that 10,000 steps (which again is a good target if not a scientifically precise minimum), you'll find that it's actually quite a distance.

Stride lengths differ, but on average, 10,000 steps means five miles. Do you move five miles in a single day? I'm talking throughout the whole day, whether it's part of an intentional exercise session or not. You probably don't.

But you should.

Eat less, move more. If we did that, we would spend a LOT less on health care. And we would be happier. And fitter. And wouldn't have to shop in the "Husky" section for our clothes.

As it turns out, it doesn't matter much how you get those steps: Run, walk, whatever. Just go.

I happen to be both a walker and a runner these days, depending on my mood and how my muscles feel. Running is more efficient in terms of getting your requisite number of steps in a relatively short period of time. But the downside of running, of course, is that you have to be smart about it. Unless you're genetically programmed to withstand a good dose of daily stress to your joints and leg muscles, you need to take rest days, and you need to be strategic about the way you warm up and the pace at which you run.

Which is why so many people opt instead for walking. Even brisk walking isn't nearly as hard on your body as running is. It's just that it takes longer. You can get essentially the same benefits as you would on a run assuming you're willing and able to invest the time.

Honestly, I think your doctor will tell you it's not how you get your steps in every day, it's that you actually do it. Stay active. Schedule walking/running time, yes, but also include the little things in your day. Take the farthest parking spot that forces you to walk a little more. Climb stairs instead of taking an elevator. Occasionally walk what might otherwise be a short car trip for running errands. Stuff like that.

And do it every day. Every. Single. Day.

I don't like to be preachy about this stuff, but I'm going to do it anyway. I lost a father and a sister to heart disease, and while I realize we're all going to die in the end regardless, I would rather have you all around for as long as possible, if that's OK.

So get off your computer or your phone and go take a walk. Or a run. Whatever. Just move.

Street walking

Because I'm stupidly competitive, I walked nearly 17 miles to work the other day.

If you think that sentence is absurd, you're right. So is getting up at 4:50 a.m. for an almost-four-hour walk to work. I don't necessarily recommend it.

Here's the deal: We're having this wellness initiative at work. There's a contest in which employees get a certain number of points each time they exercise, lose weight, etc. For no good reason at all, I decided I was going to do something really big that no one else would match.

Are there cash prizes for the winners of this competition? Not that I'm aware of. Any rewards at all? I don't think so. My only interest in winning is so that I can win. Does that make sense? No, it doesn't, but it's the way I'm wired.

I did the walk-to-work thing once before, back in 2008. It's actually sort of fun for me, if you set aside the fact that I stepped in a puddle three miles into the walk and covered the last 14 miles with soaking-wet feet. And the inevitable post-walk pain in my feet and ankles. And the chafing in those areas I didn't grease up with runner's lube. And the not-so-pleasant feeling of spending the rest of the day in work clothes worn over a body from which I could only minimally clean off the dirt, sweat and grime in the men's room at our office.

But other than that, it was great!

You have a lot of time to think on a 3-hour-and-45-minute walk. And to listen to your iPod. I went through a whole Seinfeld comedy album and a good chunk of the Dave Matthews catalog. But the thinking part was fun, too.

My church buddy Sarah Lansing suggested I recount some of the random thoughts I had during the walk. I'm not sure they're in the least bit entertaining, but here's what I remember:

(1) I AM A HOPELESS SUBURBANITE...AND SO ARE MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY: The route I took wound through the cities of Wickliffe, Willoughby Hills, Richmond Heights, South Euclid and Cleveland Heights before leading into the City of Cleveland proper. People who live in my suburb are generally scared to death of Cleveland. As far as most of them are concerned, it's filled with murderers and drug dealers. And certain sections are, I guess. Just not the ones I walked through. And yet I still kept my head on a swivel at all times, as if the Clevelanders waiting at the bus stops at 6:30 in the morning were going to attack me. I will never lose this fear of All Things Citified no matter how many years I work downtown or how many times I take this walk. This just strengthens my hold on the title of World's Biggest Suburban Dork.

(2) IT'S EASY TO PEE ANYWHERE WHEN YOU'RE A GUY: I took water and juice with me and drank it all. Some of it I sweat out. Some of it I didn't. The stuff I didn't sweat out had to go somewhere. I think you're getting my drift here. I took four bathroom breaks along the walk, and it wasn't difficult to find places to answer nature's call. Why? Because I'm a guy. Guys will pee anywhere. All I had to do was find a patch of woods -- stunningly easy to do in Richmond Heights and Cleveland Heights -- and voila, I had my own natural Port-a-Potty. At one point I wondered what I would have done if I was a woman. Probably suffer in silence the entire walk...or at least until I came across a McDonald's or a gas station or something.

(3) YOU KNOW WHO I LIKE? TOM HANKS: I spent five minutes thinking about Tom Hanks and what a nice guy he is. That's it, just a few intertwined thoughts on Tom and his nice-guyness. I told you, 3 hours and 45 minutes is a LONG time.

(4) THE LUBE THING I MENTIONED ABOVE? IT'S REAL: I have a tube of this stuff called Body Glide. You runners know all about Body Glide. It looks like a stick of deodorant, but the idea is to rub it on areas of your body before you go on a long run or walk to decrease friction and chafing. I did just that before I went out the door. I rubbed it all over my feet because I was afraid of blisters. My feet were fine. As it turns out, I should have done my thighs, too. Big mistake. I've been paying for it since then.

(5) I MISS BALONEY SANDWICHES: When I was little, my mom used to make me these generic baloney sandwiches on white bread. Nothing special, nothing fancy, sometimes with no condiments at all - just baloney (NOTE: As my buddy Wendy Skoch Hart so kindly pointed out when I was too lazy to look it up, the correct spelling of the lunch meat in question is "bologna." But I'm sticking with "baloney" because I'm sure that's how I would have spelled it circa 1978.) At one point in the middle of the walk, I had a powerful craving for one of those 70s-era baloney sandwiches from my mom. All I had were granola bars. Not the same thing.

And that is honestly about all I can remember. For the most part, when I wasn't checking Facebook or text messages on my phone, I was zoning out. I don't have the mental capacity or patience to maintain any sort of concentration or productive thought for every step of a 17-mile walk. So usually I would just fall into a state of half-consciousness as I walked.

Man, I really miss those baloney sandwiches.