Flights of fancy

“I once bought one that lacked charm in the aesthetic department but was still soft and comfy after having pounded concrete for 30 minutes or more.

There was a time when I, a chair-bound newspaper editor, could walk 16,000 steps on a bad day. That’s more or less seven or eight kilometers based on Fitbit data. On a good day, I could do in excess of 20,000, and there was a day during an overseas trip when I enjoyed the place so much I did not even realize I walked 26,000-odd steps and still had enough energy left to climb five more flights of hotel stairs. I kept at this for roughly three years, five days a week for 52 weeks each year, and the exercise gave me the stamina to endure raw news copy that long before I get off my rockers and go mad.

Metro Manilans generally hate walking, and as someone used to rural modes of transport like the bicycle or my own two feet, I find it amusing that one would willing pay a pedicab hoodlum three times — no — 10 times the minimum fare to transport oneself 600, 800 meters up the street when the sun is out. Haaay, for that kind of money I could enjoy turon and still have enough left for a can of soda to beat curbside heat. The only thing that bothers me while walking is that hooligan of a jeepney driver who races you to the pedestrian lane while looking at you from behind his windshield, intent on running you over if you insist on getting ahead.

There is an assorted army of morons, nitwits and other forms of pedestrian lowlife trying very hard to catch your attention and most likely your wallet or your cell phone if you are not careful. As a high school kid studying in a city for the first time all those many years ago, my mom would warn of keeping my head about at all times and make sure I had fare money to get back to where I started on each of the first tentative solo trips downtown. Each time we embarked on a 12-hour overnight boat trip from Leyte to Cebu, she would secure a month’s worth of allowance in my left front pocket with three, not two, safety pins so that even the most determined pickpocket would be thwarted. And she would tell all seven of us always to walk on the right side of the road where we would always see the oncoming vehicular traffic. Dad, who gave me typewriting and driving lessons at around 10, would tell of taking the long turn to the left and the sharp but cautious turn to the right at every corner I take on a vehicle. I am still amazed at how most jeepney and taxi drivers break these most basic of driving rules everyday of their lives in whatever city I happen to be in this country. My neighbors in Bulacan who try to make a living catching passengers with a tricycle, take the corner each and every time, regardless of whether they are turning left or right on a blind corner. They play the offended party when they see you maneuvering correctly on the other side, convinced in their ignorance of traffic rules and road courtesy and practice.

Being used to walking, I often disembark on a commute when traffic is gridlocked, unwilling to endure the discomfort of sitting next to one fretting about the heat and the stress that wells up as air warms the longer the gridlock lasts. Some have said inhaling the fumes from a hundred thousand of tailpipes while walking quickly makes you sick, as if sitting in an air-conditioned sedan does not give you the same ailment given enough time.

And so, I continue to walk when presented the opportunity, especially when given the chance for the sheer pleasure the exercise delivers. I must have bought quite a number of rubber-soled shoes that quickly wear out on me after three or four months of daily use. Some of the best walking shoes are local, no-name brands that are comfortable even on sidewalks rendered difficult for pedestrian use by roadside stalls selling all sorts of merchandize. I once bought one that lacked charm in the aesthetic department but was still soft and comfy after having pounded concrete for 30 minutes or more. This was in contrast to this expensive brand that lets you stand out in a sea of well-heeled leather and rubber but burns the sole of one foot after a long day of chasing pavement. Good thing this particular pair was a gift from a friend. I would not pay for one out of my own pocket after that experience.

Recently I was at this multi-story building on official business and found the queue at the bank of elevators too long and the wait for the next car to transit from the ground to the 16th floor too slow. I reckon I could negotiate the climb to my 14th floor appointment with relative ease given all that walking for many years in the recent past and there were millennials willing to take the stairs with me one Friday morning in Makati.

The first five flights were a breeze but quickly the pace sputtered as I hit the sixth and then the seventh. Each flight lasted about a minute, but soon I realized a minute and a half was not enough at the rate of pace I was going. I remember the time I was with a group of early evening joggers when I could complete two sweeps around the Cultural Center of the Philippines and then two more to the Philippine International Convention Center before rounding the Tuesday-Thursday cycle with a run all the way to the US Embassy some distance away and back again to the CCP before calling it a night. But oh my, this was like ages ago before the boss gifted me with a car and I have led a rather sedentary life since then. This was the point I realized that I hit the 33rd floor and it left me completely flabbergasted that I have climbed that long and that high while I reminisced. I checked again, panting much like an abused carabao plowing the field at high noon.

The janitor at the door merely told me the 33rd was really the 13th floor and that I needed to negotiate one more flight of steps and the task is done.

I expected to face a judge hearing a libel charge against me that morning. He was not there for the second time. You can imagine my relief.