Persons's walking feet.
Photo by Olia Gozha

I ended a streak tonight. After 167 consecutive days of walking at least 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) outside, I was thwarted by ice on the pathway.

It was a good run. Some days I would do 6K, some days 10. Something like 540 miles in total.

Tonight, at the start, the only footprints I encountered were my own from last night’s snowy outing. Ironically, it wasn’t until I got to the part of the path that had been cleared that I began to lose my footing. The remaining thin layer of water had frozen to an invisible threat for the less nimble and I do not move like a cat.

So I’m standing there under a streetlamp trying to convince myself to keep going, but it was another 4.5 kilometers and I just can’t afford to fall. I worry about falling a lot more than I used to.

I turned back.

Streaks are interesting for the psychological power we imbue them.

Streaks with a heavy chance factor, like a hitting streak in baseball, are more intriguing than the those simply motivated by our own obsessions.

I wouldn’t have been outside trying to complete this walk in first place if it weren’t for all the walks that had come before. Even though health was my original reason for walking, tonight it was all about the number 168.

Tomorrow, I suppose it will be about the number 1.

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