2020 - the year of walking seriously

January 2, 2021. Thanks to Strava, my need to measure, post and pursue exercise goals and accomplishments has been both easy and engaging.

In 1982-83, while teaching at the University of Wyoming, I had perfected my charting of my weight and running. I'd measure my current weight and on a piece of graph paper, using the horizontal for time (by day) and the vertical axis for weight, I'd post the current weight on the far left of the page, pick a weight goal, and post that goal on the furthest day to the right, about 60 days in the future. Finally, I'd draw a line from the current weight to the goal weight, a gently negatively sloped straight line.

I would then weigh myself after each run each day, post that weight on the chart, and post the number of miles I ran. If my posted weight that day went above the line, I'd fast -- water or juice only -- until a run got my weight below the line. Each day I'd also note if I had consumed any meat, alcohol or chocolate, often using abstinence form one or more of those three to keep me 'below the line.'

One regular experience was that once I 'got into a rhythm,' I could not only stay 'below the ;one,' I could also fall well below the line, and rather than slack off on my exercise, that achievement usually motivated me to widen the gap even more. A kind of snowball effect.

In my best years of running, basically 1976 to 1983, my peak schedule was 75 miles every two weeks, using a trailing average. I'd try to combine nine- and six-mile runs during the week and, when living in Lawrence, pick up even ten miles or more on the Sunday run. If there was an off day, it was often Saturday.

At Penn State in 1977-78, I found myself taking long solo runs, ten miles or so, running a long loop around State College, from my College Avenue apartment out past Beaver Stadium, then perhaps towards Toftrees and the hospital, then across College Avenue and out through Lemont and southwest past the country club, before circling back up Allen Street.

In Wyoming, I'd do similar, long loops, including some excellent climbs in the mountains east of town. At Kansas, when I lived at 2500 Montana, I'd run out to the watchtower south of town and return for a six mile or so run. Then I would at times go past the tower, heading west, and adding two or three miles. These were solo runs.

Solo runs are a great opportunity for thinking and, as a side effect, generating endorphin -- the runner’s high experience -- that left me feeling more euphoric than exhausted after a long run. The anticipated endorphin rush also served as a motivator, i.e., when I was feeling down or disappointed, a long run would cheer me up, the longer the run the better the high. I recall one time, having received a lengthy critical review of a manuscript submitted to Administrative Science Quarterly, I went out very depressed and returned from my run feeling much better. The article never made it to ASQ but it did get a second-tier acceptance, at JOM: Peter Lorenzi, Henry P. Sims, Jr. and John W. Slocum, Jr. Perceived environmental uncertainty: An individual or environmental attribute? Journal of Management, 1981, 7, 27-41. It was my first empirical publication in a peer-reviewed journal, coming almost four years after my first: Peter Lorenzi. A comment on Organ's reappraisal of the satisfaction-causes-performance hypothesis. Academy of Management Review, 1978, 3, 380-382. That four-year gap represented my best running years and also probably explained the rest of my publishing career: Taking four years from earning my doctorate to get my first empirical publication really bigger down my efforts, as any other project under way or under consideration during those four year maintained a lower priority. I did not multi-task well, even as I recall posting a Gantt chart on my office, listing perhaps a dozen or so projects or manuscripts in progress.

Forty years later, walking is for listening to music, perhaps a radio show or a podcast, but no longer for editing my research manuscripts in my head. Over the three or five years preceding my departure from Loyola in June 2019, my interest in writing articles for publication seriously waned. The intrinsic satisfaction from seeing a manuscript finished and/or published just had no value to me any more. Collecting data ended well before that period, as I turned too 'thought pieces' rather than data, trying to articulate values and theories rather than to confirm a hypothesis. I felt more like a sage than a scientist, and I wanted to spend those last eight years or so of my career getting people to think are about purpose and policy, and less about p-values or worse, about gaming the system -- p-hacking-- with shoddy research models, politically correct topics, marginal tweaks of our knowledge, and biased peer reviewers. It was no longer 'publish or perish.' Instead it was time to publish for purpose, to make an impact, to generate critical thinking, and to move the needle on public policy and personal values.

Bottom line: Besides 318 days of activity in 2020, and over 1300 miles walked, the mental and memorable aspects of walking were just as valuable as were the physical health benefits the walking produced, typically a one-hour, four-mile walk each day, usually within the 'square' of routes N and KK, and State Park and Schmidt roads. There is joy in personal pursuit of better health, including not just physical but also mental and spiritual health. Walking is not a panacea, but it might be one of the best preventive measures in avoiding the medical problems, diseases, cancers and other maladies brought about by a sedentary lifestyle. And as much as I'd love to run again, that is not in the cards. As I learned forty years ago, eventually your body will make it difficult if not impossible to run as you did in your youth. Walking is a more than adequate, sustainable alternative, even in the Wisconsin winter.