Years ago, when I was too impatient to wait for the bus to go to work, I realized that I could leave home only 10 minutes earlier and get to work by walking. Ditto the return route. That was how I started: 8 k/day, 5 days/wk.
That was a couple of decades ago. I no longer work in the same place. I still walk.
Walking clears my head. I like that it's gentle exercise. I couldn't sustain anything more aggressive. Moving my legs and body is a good antidote to the stationary hours I spend at my desk writing.
In the sense that walking progresses at a slow pace, walking mimics my slow movement through narrative.
The act of walking balances the act of writing.
My words stay with me too -- even when I don't set out to think about writing while I'm walking.
I replay dialogue. I consider adding a flashback to help with a plot conundrum.
Or I decide to describe the place that I'm walking through.
It often isn't a conscious decision.
Of course, I'm not the first writer who appreciates walking. I belong to a tradition of writers who trudge. Virginia Woolf and James Joyce to name a couple. More recently, Rebecca Solnit has written a book, wanderlust: A History of Walking.
I have friends who are writers with whom I go on long walks.
A good friend and writer, Elise Moser, suggested we do a walking/writing workshop to introduce others to the benefits that we experience.
We planned a route that would take us along the edge of the upscale Montreal neighbourhood of Westmount, then down past the Lachine Canal to Pointe St. Charles, where I live and where I set my novel, Five Roses.
Between walks, we wrote.