On a fated day the first week of freshman year, my Orientation Leader said the phrase that would alter my life forever: “I like to walk the track in my free time”Â
As simple as it sounds, it unlocked the activity that would end up carrying me through my first two years at college. That day I decided to try it out. Although I was burned by the August sun and my shorts caused an ungodly amount of chafing, that hour long walk had me hooked. I listened to sad songs to let myself stew in homesickness, and then I switched to some upbeat motivational songs to get me excited for what’s to come. I felt every emotion on that track, and all of those emotions were left on that track. I was reset, I could go about my day. From that day on, it became my “thing”. If my social battery was dry, if I wanted to daydream about my new class crush, if I wanted to just get some exercise, I walked the track. Sometimes it only lasted 15 minutes, sometimes it lasted almost 2 hours, but around and around and around I went. At the end of freshman year, when everything felt like it was in its place, I had friends, I found my groove, I aced my classes, life was great, I still walked it. There’s always something to work through in my mind, even if it’s reflecting on how fun my year was while listening to Beautiful Day by U2. Â
Last semester, the fall of my sophomore year, I was in the deepest part of the trials and tribulations of a situationship (or an unrequited humiliationship in my case). In the mental trenches, I walked around that track for hours. Even as the temperature hit single digits, even in hail, rain, snow, I walked through it all. My friends couldn’t believe what I was doing, but as the sharp cold wind whipped at my face, the tears came so easily. And although I needed the weather to assist me in getting the tears out, crying was the release I needed. Sitting miserable in class, I would add songs to my playlist with excitement at the idea of crying to them later that night on my walk. I bought specific touchscreen gloves so when I was out on the cold track I could fix my Spotify queue without my fingers freezing.Â
Now as I mentioned, this was at my lowest. But once second semester came and I clawed my way out of the boy-trenches, I moved to the treadmill. I know, I know, I cheated on the track, but when you’re no longer on the impossible quest to figure out a man’s thought process, the single digit weather isn’t as bearable. As the weeks went on, the track was kind of out of my mind. I no longer really considered it. And maybe I should have because those few months without the track weren’t really the greatest, but that’s besides the point. My point is I had a long hiatus from my therapy track. However, this past weekend I woke up at 6am on a Saturday with the most tormenting and unrelenting hangxiety. I am a consistent victim of this affliction, but this day was specifically the worst. I couldn’t just sit in my bed scrolling through my phone stewing in my distress. So you know what I did? I got up, drank some water, took some ibuprofen, and walked to the track. It was the slowest and sleepiest walk of my life, but as the lyrics started to hit and the tears started to flow, it made me feel happier. Letting it out felt so liberating, because all the anxiety and sadness and worry, I left it on the track. Soon as I walked off that track nothing mattered, I let myself have that time to mourn my Friday night of chaos, and then I moved past it. The gratitude I feel for that walk on Saturday morning is immeasurable, I’m still thinking about how much I needed it. How grateful I am that I got out of bed and went on that walk. Â
So now, I call on you to take a walk. If you feel overwhelmed, overjoyed, depressed, delighted, if you feel anything and everything, let yourself feel it by taking a walk. Put on a podcast, or a playlist, or just let your mind wander to the sounds of your footsteps. Process what your thinking, release it all, and then leave it on the track. I can almost guarantee it’ll help. Like the lovely song by Passion Pit: Take A Walk.Â