![]() ![]() ![]() I had grown up in New York City, where walking became a part of my identity. I wanted to go far and wide and reach uncharted-on-foot territory. What can I say? I had wanted to go on an adventure walk. Why would someone possibly do that to themselves? A reasonable human may wonder. I felt bound to finish what I had started: a walk from South Los Angeles to the Verdugos, and then all the way to the ocean, by way of Venice Beach. He was supposed to pick me up when I was done, and I needed him to be ready. I had been texting him throughout the day, but as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, my texting increased. Why was I doing this to myself? I texted my boyfriend, Ben, my location. At this rate, I had another hour of walking to reach my destination. I had been averaging a mile every 16 minutes. When I started walking, about seven-and-a-half hours prior, it had been cold. ![]() I was grateful I had remembered a baseball hat. Burned even worse than my arms and chest. I craned my neck to check out my shoulders. The headphones trapped too much heat and made me uncomfortable. The noise in my ears was no longer decipherable to me. Mario to fetch coins, and me to feel alive. It felt like I was a character in a video game: I was Mario, perpetually moving forward, barely taking in this backdrop of sky and concrete, and avoiding obstacles (him: pipes, me: cars and trash). Sweaty and sunburned, with aching feet and back pain, I had walked my first marathon - and hadn’t yet reached my destination. ![]()
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