The First Step Back

My doctor looked at me like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“How many miles have you walked this year?”

“1,276,” I said.

She blinked. “What? How did you do that many?”

I smiled, because the answer was simpler than it sounded.

“I walked one mile, 1,276 times. One step at a time.”

She shook her head, still processing it. I added, “You know how Forrest Gump solved problems by running? I think I’m the Forrest Gump of walking.”

We both laughed.

Many of them were walked in a neck brace, slow and steady, one careful step at a time. I started walking in January to prepare for surgery in May, and I kept walking through the long stretch of recovery until those small steps added up.

Some days my daughter joined me on those neighborhood walks. We’d swing our arms dramatically and sing “And I would walk five hundred miles…” just like James Corden and Niall Horan did on The Late Late Show, channeling The Proclaimers with full commitment.

For a few minutes, we weren’t navigating recovery.

We were just two people moving through the world with joy.

My old walking shoes had carried me through so much that the treads were completely worn down, smooth in places that used to have grip. Maybe that’s why I felt surprisingly giddy waiting for the new pair to arrive. I checked the front door multiple times a day, like a kid on Christmas morning.

When they finally showed up, lacing them felt like a quiet reset.

A reminder that the path continued, and so did I.

Walking became its own kind of anchor.

A rhythm.

A ritual.

A way back when so much else had fallen apart.

For a year and a half, I called medical leave temporary, holding tightly to the version of myself I believed I would return to.  But mile by mile, I began becoming someone else.

Someone steadier.

Someone choosing the path in front of her, even if she couldn’t yet see where it led.

Walking carried me through the hours, and eventually through the days.

One afternoon, during a pedicure with my daughter, the woman beside me leaned over and said, “I see you walking every day. You inspire me.”

I hadn’t realized anyone noticed. I thought I was just a woman in a brace, putting one foot in front of the other. But in her eyes, I was someone moving forward, visibly.

Walking didn’t fix me.

But it moved me.

One mile at a time.

One breath at a time.

I didn’t know where any of it was leading.

I just knew I could take the next step.