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.