
1.8 million steps: the first steps
I’ve always been a walker. Perhaps it was growing up in the fresh Norwegian countryside, or perhaps it was being a heavyset and nerdy kid in a fast-moving football community. Either way, walking – on the road, on paths, in the forest, on the beach – always seemed to me like a great way to spend my time.
Some of my
And yet, my memories are not about being at
Memories are fickle and slippery like eels, squirming and twisting out of your hands. Mine
The big steep hill is not that big, but the top is, indeed, quite steep. It follows several other long, gentle inclines, surrounded by lush Norwegian spruce. The road slippery with thick grass, blueberry heather and overturned trees. Fat frogs might jump out at any turn and, if you’re lucky, your screech may scare up a wood grouse or a disoriented owl. Red squirrels leap between the trees, and everything smells of the season.
Then, the big steep hill marks a sharp turn to your right. The hill itself goes from wet mud to bare rock, and to your
After the hill, you’re in the real woods. The road is less pronounced here. Some places, the forest has crept all the way onto the road, stretching branches and roots out into your way, whipping your face or catching your feet. In between, there are large open spaces. Cold stone cliffs covered in grey lichen and lingonberry heather. Tall, straight Scots pine trees clinging to the barren ground. The woods are not as thick here, but
This is where you can imagine a wolf weaving between the trees across the plateau, following you with its yellow eyes. This is where every creak and snap is a bear, a roe deer, a moose. The hissing to your right might be an adder, but it’s better not to look.
I have dozens of memories of these walks. Of racing up the hill. Of stepping through rotting snow. Of oranges and pieces of chocolate, of animals and the fear of animals, of conversations, laughter, anger, and seasons. Seasons slow and certain like tides.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot, the first 100,000 steps of 2019. I now walk mostly on pavement, asphalt, concrete and cobblestone. I’m surrounded by buildings rather than trees, people rather than animals, the smell of commerce rather than the smell of weather.
Somehow, it seems just as wild, yet I long to get into the woods.

Reclaiming Time: Week 2

Relaiming time: Week 3
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