I am a girl who loves to walk — not a casual stroll, but a 5K-in-one-go kind of walk.
In any new city, I’ll always choose walking over transport. It has consistently been my breath of fresh air after hectic days.

Early mornings on a beach as the dawn breaks.
Mountain paths that lead to a waterfall.
Walking, for me, has always been tied to places that make you feel alive.

And yet, this year my average sits at 2.78 km.

At the beginning of 2025, I told myself this would be the year of a 5 km daily average.
January and February showed promise.
From March onwards, my walking ritual slowly disappeared. I’m trying to return to it now, and December has been kinder.

The data is honest — but incomplete.
It shows that I peak on vacations, easily clocking 15,000–20,000 steps, experiencing cities at the speed they deserve.
On regular workdays, even 5,000 steps feels like an achievement.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy walking on workdays.
By the time the day ends, I feel too exhausted to carve out time for it — mentally more than physically.
Ironically, the very thing that would instantly refresh me is what I end up postponing.

I vividly remember one day filled with back-to-back meetings — my mind buzzing and humming even after I closed the last Teams call. I could’ve ordered groceries with 10-minute delivery, but the brand I wanted wasn’t available. Slightly annoyed, I dragged myself out instead, already convinced I was done for the day. But somewhere between the cool breeze on my face and high-energy music in my ears, something shifted. Fifteen minutes into the walk, I felt refreshed. Calm. Ready — even — for another two hours of night calls.

Walking isn’t exercise for me.
It’s private time.

It’s where conversations flow naturally, where silences feel comfortable, where the day finally gets processed.
I don’t enjoy calls on a walk. I don’t like podcasts either.
I tried making walking “productive,” and it took away the very thing that makes it healing.

Walking creates a boundary I otherwise struggle to protect.
It gently marks the end of work and the beginning of myself.

Some days, the energy after a walk is so good — the happiness so light — that I even dance.
Music in my ears, body in rhythm, fully present.
Meditation, but in motion.

Data may call it inconsistency.
I see it as a reminder of how easily we de-prioritize what quietly keeps us well — and an invitation to do better.

As I like to call it, walking is an antibiotic — the kind you can take more of, without harm.