Rod Wellington’s Account of Go Beyond Your Limits 2
Go Beyond Your Limits 2: On Track to Curb Hunger in Chatham-Kent
A 24-Hour Fundraising Walk for Outreach For Hunger
Saturday, December 10 and Sunday, December 11, 2011
Location: Ursuline College Chatham – Chatham, Ontario
Visit Go Beyond Your Limits 2 for photos and more information on the walk.
The Go Beyond Your Limits 2 walk had four main goals:
1) raise money for Outreach For Hunger at a time of the year when help is both needed and appreciated even more than usual
2) engage others in making a healthy choice to inject more physical activity into their daily routine
3) encourage people to physically and mentally challenge themselves to go beyond their personal best one-day walking distance
4) achieve my personal goal – to walk 250 laps around a 400-metre track (a distance of 100km) in less than 24 hours
My personal best one-day walking distance up to that point was 55km, set during the first Go Beyond Your Limits walk back in September 2011. Hindered by both scorching heat (34°C) and stifling humidity, that walk took me 17½ hours to complete. Numerous breaks, each one compounding the hours of non-progress, only added to the total duration of the walk. I vowed that next time I undertook a lengthy walk, things would be different.
The morning of December 10th greeted us with a generous dappling of sun and a bright blue sky nearly bereft of clouds. The weather forecast called for mostly clear conditions and a daytime high of 5°C. Along with the sun came a gusting wind that promised to add a most unwelcome windchill factor to the proceedings and randomly drive the temperatures back down to the zero mark. Thanks to the wind, we were looking at the prospect of dealing with the coldest autumn day in Chatham in 2011. Luckily, our saving grace rested in the fact that the day was expected to be a dry one, and the dry conditions were expected to continue throughout the night.
My father, Robert, and I arrived at the parking lot behind Ursuline College at 10:15am, followed quickly by my sister, Carrie Formosa, and her husband Mario. We hefted boxes and bags full of food, water, clothes and camera equipment to the football field. The College had invested a large sum of money in 2011 to have its running track resurfaced. The gritty black surface and bold white lane lines showed that the track had seen little use. A high perimeter fence and securely locked gate helped ensure that its newness would be retained for some time to come.
Quiet side streets bordered the field on two sides. A seniors’ housing complex, sunlit and silent on this Saturday morning, sat just beyond the fence to the north. The brick façade of the school’s backside and the stark white exterior of a towering circular chapel completed the view to the south. Looking west across the low depression of a sunken soccer field, still soggy from weeks of torrential rain, we could see the rear of a large church and its generous parking lot. Further west, poking above the horizon, stood the ever-belching, silver smokestack of Chatham’s ethanol plant. My nose wrinkled in displeasure as the fermented smell of corn-fuel vapour seeped into my sinuses. With the gusting eastbound wind blowing directly our way, I knew that I’d be inhaling the unwanted odor for the next 24 hours.
My niece, Colleen Formosa, and her partner, Aaron Parker, arrived bearing a large plastic dispenser filled with donated Tim Hortons coffee and a few boxes of donated donuts. Colleen’s brother, Ian Formosa, arrived a few minutes later, joined by his wife Stacie and their four children. Ian and his 13-year-old son, Alex (who had walked 45km during the first Go Beyond Your Limits walk), assembled two tents and staked them off on the football field. One tent served as play area for Alex’s younger siblings while the other housed purchased items from an online auction Carrie Formosa had brilliantly organized prior to the walk. The auction had raised a total of $1050 and several people were planning to come by the school to pick up their purchases. In addition to the tents, a large orange canopy was erected over the registration table. An Outreach For Hunger banner, supplied by Outreach executive director Brenda LeClair, was hung in front of the table.
Fellow walker and friend Marg Rheault arrived with her son Marc, sister Patsy Lachance and niece Ashley Lachance in tow. Joining them was Annette Nealey and her sister Terilyn Bourdeau. Annette had been involved in the first Go Beyond Your Limits walk, setting a personal best distance of 25km before retiring due to the heat. Now she was back to try and surpass her personal best.
At 11:30am, with local photographer Michael Chalcraft happily snapping away, thirteen of us, all bundled warmly in winter wear, eagerly set off around the track – some content to enjoy an hour of exercise and friendly conversation, while some, like myself, Annette Nealey and Alex Formosa, were here for another reason: to go beyond our limits.
During the walk’s planning stages I devised an idea to print out 250 sheets, one for each lap, and to have my picture taken with each sheet as I completed each lap.
People arrived throughout the afternoon to pick up their auction items. Others, having heard about the walk on the radio, or read about it in the local newspapers, dropped by the field to buy a few bake sale goodies and add to the growing pile of coins and bills in the donation jar.
The group of walkers made their way around the track, counting their laps as my sister Carrie took breaks from the registration table to walk out and snap photos of me holding numbered lap sheets. During those early laps, my focus was on others; chatting with friends, fielding curious questions from strangers and recounting with Alex certain events from the first walk back in September.
Although everyone was bundled and braced against the gusting wind, which assaulted us all during the second half of each lap when we had to walk directly into it, the warm sun, low in the southern sky above the College, helped to stimulate us mentally and physically, warming not only our faces but our inner resolve as well. Looking ahead, I wondered how I would cope when the sun was gone for good. I had 14 hours of cold, hard darkness to look forward to. That, I said to myself, would be when the real challenge would begin.
Carrie continued to alternate between taking pictures and minding the registration table. Michael continued snapping pics. Colleen and Aaron finished five laps before retreating to the registration table for hot coffee and to offer Carrie a hand. Stacie Formosa and Brenda LeClair both put in ten laps, not too shabby considering the numbing conditions. Mario Formosa and Marg Rheault teamed up for 25 laps full of smiles and laughs. They happily posed with the “25” lap sheet, playfully boasting their 10km achievement, then loaded up on some sugary treats and cups of hot coffee. Not to be outdone, my 78-year-old father finished his walk with a very respectable 27 laps, a total of 11km on the day. Marc Rheault also finished 27 laps. Still wishing to contribute to the event, Marc stuck around to snap lap pictures over the next three hours. Ian Formosa, another big achiever on the day, finished with 37 laps, a healthy distance of 15km. Ian mentioned afterward that he would’ve walked further but had to attend a Christmas party later that night with his wife Stacie.
By mid-afternoon the parade of people picking up their auction items began to taper off and the number of walkers had dwindled to four: me, Alex, Annette Nealey and her sister Terilyn. The registration table, along with the orange canopy and one of the tents, were packed up and hauled away as Alex and I bid adieu to our families. We chose to stash all of the hot drinks and a number of sweets behind the zippered door of the dome tent – a decision I would come to regret later.
At 4:30pm, with the sun dipping below the western horizon and the temperature beginning to plummet, I passed the 50 lap mark. “50 down, 200 to go!” I said to myself. I dug out my toque and drew the hood of my jacket over my head, knowing that it was likely to stay in that same position for the duration of the walk.
As the light faded from the sky, Terilyn was joined by her husband and her two children during the final two of her 55 laps, giving her a total of 22km walked – a personal best. Annette returned after a dinner break, and, wrapped tightly in two winter jackets, proceeded to finish her walk at 7:00pm with a total of 75 laps, a distance of 30km – another personal best, surpassing the 25km she had walked during the first Go Beyond Your Limits event in September.
Now it was just Alex and I, as it had been back in September. Alex was determined to push pass his personal best of 45km. Thanks to a quick early pace – he had been walking while I was chatting with people at the registration table – Alex was now about 12 laps ahead of my lap total, even though we now walked side by side. This meant that he would reach his milestone before me. The question was: how long would he hold out after he reached it?
I passed the 75 lap mark at 7:00pm. Laps were going by fast now. Alex was closing in on his 90th lap, needing only another 22 laps to tie his personal best.
The novelty of having to stop every lap to take a photo of me and a lap sheet had long worn thin for both us. Alex and I developed a wordless routine where we would exit the track at the same point every time and tread across the frosty grass to our encampment. Alex would switch on the camera, now positioned on a tripod, as I removed the lead weight from the shrinking stack of sheets, scratched free the top sheet and posed smilingly in front of the camera. Alex would nod yes if the photo looked good or shake his head and slightly grimace if the photo was not. We retook the photos until he was satisfied. Then I’d discard the sheet face down on top of the growing stack in a nearby trash can as Alex switched off the camera. We’d then exit our camp and tread along another well-trammelled path across the frosty grass and onto the track. We did this over and over and over – a total of 43 times.
Shortly after 9:00pm, Alex reached his 45km milestone. Determined, he pressed on. An hour later he was celebrating the fact that he had gone beyond his limit – he had walked 50km! Content with his effort, he rested in a lawn chair beside the camera and snapped pictures as I continued my laps.
I reached the 50km mark at 11:30pm, 12 hours after I started walking. I was halfway to my goal. Despite the cold, I was keeping up a commendable 5km-per-hour pace, circling 25 laps (10km) every two hours. At that pace, ten hours of walking would put me across the finish line at approximately 9:30am – a total walk time of 22 hours. “It’s in the bag.” I told myself. “I can bang this off, no problem.” In hindsight, I had begun my victory celebration a tad bit too early.
Carrie and Mario returned to the track to pick up Alex at 11:40pm, leaving me alone for the first time that day. Encouragement would now have to come from within, a concept I was fortunately well-versed in. But being alone also meant that I would now have to take photos as well as keep a vigilant eye on the camera equipment. Under the full moon I had seen teen shadows lurking beyond the fence, their shouted whispers swept away by the icy wind. Paranoia crept in with the harsh cold and rudely rooted itself in my brain. Focus strayed. Colours greyed. The walk now became a psychological challenge.
With each lap my mind searched for images familiar, sights that I hoped would ground me. I needed landmarks and beacons. The house on the corner, seen on every backstretch, its warm inward glow emanating through closed curtains, commanded both my attention and curiosity. I studied its windows and doors, entry points to a world of heat. I imagined the layout within; chairs ’round a hearth, bubbling cocoa on the stove, warm toes snuggled deep in woolen slippers. I passed enviously time and again, knowing soon that those lights, those little midnight suns beyond the fence, would soon be extinguished and I would be alone with only the biting wind and creeping cold for company.
My search for familiarity turned heavenward. Circularly framed by my jacket hood, I saw a huge cloud bank roll in from the north like a giant white carpet. It unfurled itself for nearly an hour until it passed and the full moon shone unimpeded again. Constellations dotted the sky like jewels on black velvet. With each lap they rose and turned and twinkled, chasing the whitened moon toward the western horizon. Here was the beauty of circling a track on a late autumn night: slow, almost imperceptible change, but change nonetheless – progress toward the dawn and the warmth it would surely bring.
Fingers too cold to work – inoperable, unusable – reduced to lobster-like pinchers, capable only of crude manouevers. Each lap I fumbled helplessly with the camera settings, unable to engage the self-timer. I steadied the tripod and unsuccessfully attempted to push the camera into a locked position on the tripod head. Each time it slid precariously backwards and threatened to tumble from its perch. Precious minutes sieved away and I reminded myself constantly of the morning deadline. I was engaged in a race against a clock that I could not see.
Tea mixed with lemon juice and maple syrup rested warmly in a thermos inside the last remaining tent, but my useless fingers lacked the strength to work the tent’s zippered door. I stared longingly at the thermos through the mesh window and cursed through clouds of frosty breath. Leaning down to retrieve a discarded bottle of water, I felt a twinge in my lower back. The rigours of cold-weather, long-distance walking were revealing themselves. To my dismay, the water in the bottle had turned semi-solid. I smashed the bottle repeatedly on the frozen ground, furiously worked the cap loose and filled my mouth with a rush of ice slivers and bitterly cold water. Even anger could not heat my core at this stage. Only forward motion would create the heat I so desperately needed.
The wind tore at the lap sheets as I stood unsmiling before the camera. My right hand grasped the sheets tightly while the other operated the camera shutter. I tried using my body to shield the sheets from the wind but they continued to flail around helplessly. I resorted to holding a corner of the sheet in my teeth while the camera flash blinded me time and again.
At 2:15am I was joined by Greg Holden, who, along with his wife and son, had visited the walk earlier in the day. Battling a flu of sorts, and unable to sleep, Greg somehow decided that leaving his house and walking a few laps on a 400-metre track in sub-zero temperatures might do his body good. Despite the cold, Greg was feverishly talkative and frequently laced his speech with lyrical prose and stints of late night philosophy. His company was grandly welcomed and I even managed a few smiles while he played tripod photographer. All totalled, Greg walked 10 laps (156-165) with me before heading home – but not to bed, as evidenced by the Facebook comments he posted well into the night. (Yes, I was monitoring things with my mobile phone; alone, yet still connected.)
By 4:00am, at lap 175, I decided it was time for a break. My father had left his van in the school parking lot in case I needed to retreat from the wind and warm my bones. Fishing out the car keys and cranking the ignition was only slightly easier than trying to open the zippered door on the tent. Even with the heater running strong at its highest setting, I could still not absorb any heat. My core had been rendered a giant Popsicle by the chilling wind and a mere ten minutes had not been time enough to properly defrost it.
An icy blast of wind hit me as I emerged from the van. Any heat that had been absorbed by my body was immediately erased. Turning my back to wind, I slowly plodded toward the track. I still had 75 laps (30km) to go to meet my goal. That meant another six hours of walking at my current pace.
More laps, more photos. More grimaces, less smiles. The constant wind drove temperatures to a chilly -10°C. My unprotected face grew numb to the icy barrage on the backstretch of every lap. I felt nothing. No tingling. No pain. No warmth. There was only the growing awareness that I had either reached a state of invulnerability or I was in the final stages of frostbite. Both of these possibilities worried me endlessly.
Among a stack of discarded water bottles and frigid sleeping bags, I found a thermos full of piping hot water. I put the nozzle to my lips and eased the fluid toward my gullet. The steaming liquid scalded my tongue and cheek and I cursed at the irony of having finally found a heat source, albeit one that could neither be absorbed nor consumed.
At 6:15am, with 200 laps under my belt, I again sought refuge in the van. My right hand clawed at the heat vents in a desperate attempt to absorb some warmth. The attempt was futile. After ten minutes the hand felt no different – only the same deadened numbness I had encountered since the sun had set. Frostbite, I reckoned, was not far away.
When I last talked to my sister Carrie – at midnight when she and Mario had picked up Alex – she had asked me when I thought I might finish the following morning. I told her “around 10:00am”.
“Text me at 9.” she had said.
Back then, our conversation had seemed trivial. At that time, the walk was “in the bag.” Morning seemed but minutes away. But now, with forward motion as my only reliable source of heat, 9:00am could not arrive soon enough. Each time I posed for a picture I gazed around the camp and thought how utterly difficult it was going to be if I had to dismantle the tent by myself. What if Carrie did not arrive until 11:00am, I wondered. I would be in no condition to drive myself home. If I finished before she arrived I would have no choice but to sit in the van with the heat cranked on full. But what about the gear in the camp? I could not leave it unattended on the field. There were hundreds of dollars’ worth of equipment in the tent. What if I fell asleep in the van while Sunday-morning vandals effortlessly and unhurriedly pillaged my encampment?
So far, I had somehow managed to keep fatigue at bay. Pure endurance and manic persistence had seen to that. Worry and stress, however, had walked with me hand in hand since early evening, slowly gnawing away at my rationality and resolve. I once again sought focus in the house beyond the fence. It had been quiet now for hours, its windows darkened and empty. I silently hoped that an early-riser lived behind those wooden doors, someone who would flip a switch and ignite an electric morning sun, a sun from which I hoped to glean a ray of encouragement to help offset my mounting sense of despondency.
Laps later, in what must have been the coldest hour of the walk, early shades of light began to show in the eastern sky over Chatham’s downtown. Pale blue hues and hints of rusty purple slowly gave way to shades of dusty yellow and marmalade orange as another Sunday morning blossomed in all its beauty. I knew that I would not feel the sun upon my face for at least another 90 minutes, but I held fast to the knowledge that the 14 hours of darkness that I had just strode through was in the process of ending.
At 7:00am, the red digital clock on the UCC scoreboard flickered to life. Now there would be no hiding from the impending deadline. The large red numbers stared me down during the backstretch of each lap.
Having easy access to the time of day worked both to my advantage and my detriment. On one hand, it made gauging my progress much easier; I could set short-term goals to be on such-and-such lap by such-and-such time. On the other hand, having a stark, physical representation of the very thing that I had been making a large effort to avoid, in glowing red numbers, no less, was just plain daunting. It took away the element of surprise I had only enjoyed when I switched on my phone, and instead inserted a stubborn regiment that now had to be adhered to. There was no escaping it. No amount of eye-averting could avoid the hard reality that those red numbers, suspended on high for all to see, represented solidly the finite end to my walk. Fact was fact. I had 4½ hours to walk the remaining 45 laps. The countdown to a hard-won finish had indeed begun.
Flocks of crows began to appear in the sky and with their squawky arrival, a new worry was hatched. Unable to close it with frozen fingers, I had left a Ziploc bag full of mixed nuts open and unattended on the small table beside the tent. Next to the nuts was a mound of frozen energy bars. I was sure that once the crows got wind of the treats no amount of flailing arms and shouting would keep them away. So strong was my paranoia that for a full eight laps I kept my eyes glued on the camp as I circled it, ready to let loose a barrage of berserk behaviour on the birds if they invaded my stash.
At 8:20am, my sister texted me to see how I was getting on.
“U ok?” she wrote. “What lap are u on? Dad just called.”
“220.” I replied. “Cold, okay to finish.”
“See you in an hour.” she wrote.
“Good,” I thought to myself. “The sooner the better.”
The time seemed right for a short break, and so, crows and clocks be damned, I again sought refuge in the van. With the heat vents pumping loudly, I removed my gloves and noticed for the first time that my right hand was tremendously swollen. I gasped when I saw it.
“This is not good.” I said aloud.
I switched my phone on and jabbed at the keypad with my frozen index finger.
“In van for five minute break. Hands swollen from cold.”
I waited anxiously for Carrie’s reply.
“No.” I replied.
“Good. See u soon. Want anything? Green hot tea from Timmys?”
I shook my head at my last reply. It was far too polite. “GET HERE ASAP!!!” would have been far more appropriate. Stubborn pride had prevented me from asking for help. Why could I not just call my sister and explain the seriousness of my predicament? Could she not glean from my text that I my rationality was quickly withering away? I seemed mentally incapable of typing what I so desperately wanted to say – “I NEED HELP!”
Questions flooded my brain, eclipsing my iPhone keypad with matters immediate. I examined my right hand closely. What had caused the swelling? Was it lack of circulation? Too many hours with my arms dangling uselessly at my sides? Was it the onset of frostbite? My mind raced forward with negativity. I was convinced that amputation was sure to follow. The newspapers would say “Man gives his right hand to help Outreach for Hunger”. I shook away the thought and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Carrie!” I shouted over the frenzied whir of the heating fan. “Get your ass over here now!!”
But by 8:30am it became painfully clear that she had not heard my fervent plea. With head bowed, I shut off the van and plodded back to the track.
At the halfway point of each lap, while at the opposite end of the track, I looked back to see if anyone had yet arrived. They had not. The scene around the tent was the same each time: no humans, only the dreaded camera on its aluminum perch and one very impenetrable tent.
The red numbers of the scoreboard clock silently barked out the fact that it was now 9:00am. I became aware that my feet were now swelling within my shoes and that the tendons beneath my laces were screaming for relief. My knees were also groaning with displeasure. I was now past the 90km mark. I sobbed when the image of my sister came into my mind’s eye; convulsive sobs like when you discover that someone close to you has died. The sobs came in waves, washing over me and robbing me of breath, tightening my chest, then releasing with a guttural sigh. My mind raced and wrestled through a barrage of mental flotsam, frantically grasping at bits of debris in order to keep from sinking in this volatile sea of insanity. Someone else seemed to be controlling this evil, emotional rollercoaster ride I was on. There was no end to it, no exit, no escape – only forward motion and the icy bite of a savage wind. I desperately needed reassurance that I was still sane.
“25 laps to go.” I said to myself encouragingly. “Just 10 more kilometres. C’mon man, you can do this. This will all be over in two hours.”
I pulled out my phone and switched it on, looking for a sign from my sister, a sign that someone still cared about what I was doing out there in sub-zero temperatures on a late autumn morning. I found just what I needed. People were awake and sending their support via Facebook. A smile spread across my numb face as I read their comments.
“I’ve been up all night following your progress. Keep it up! You’re doing awesome!”
“You rock Rod!!”
“You are amazing!”
I fought back tears for fear that my eyes might freeze shut. Simple black words in simple blue boxes had found a way to warm my icy heart.
10:00am announced itself on the scoreboard clock. I was now on lap 238 and still no one had arrived. I had spent an hour and a half peering over my shoulder in hopes that I’d see some of my family members strolling through the gate, arms wide in welcome and warmth. But with each ensuing lap I hung my head in disappointment. Only the camp and the camera waited on the horizon for my return.
Then, as I rounded the backstretch on lap 240, I saw Brenda LeClair standing tall on the track, her brick red-coloured coat and smiling face lit up strong in the morning sun. She gave me a big hug and congratulated me on my effort so far. We then walked a lap together and I shared with her some of the many creeping fears that had beset me through the night. Brenda snapped a picture of me holding up lap sheet 240, the first picture taken by someone other than me in over seven hours, 74 laps ago. We hugged again, and as quick as she’d come, she was gone.
Alone once more, I set off around the track. It looked as though I might be finishing the walk without fanfare. Thankfully, that wasn’t meant to be.
As I rounded the backstretch on lap 243, I looked over my shoulder and saw not only my sister’s familiar black coat, but also a parade of other coats, each belonging to a family member or friend. I strode into camp with smile wide and welcomed one and all with a sarcastic chiding: “You’re late, but nonetheless present!” Hugs and handshakes were forthcoming. “Well-dones” and “way-to-gos” were bandied freely. Carrie snapped my photo while I posed before the tripod and Alex joined me as we rounded lap 244.
As the others pitched in to tear down the tent and pack up the camp, I switched on my phone and composed a simple post on Facebook: “Okay people, last lap!!! And I have some great company – family!!”
I was joined on the track by a host of Formosas – Alex, Colleen, Ian and Mario. Walking alongside us were Colleen’s partner Aaron Parker, family friend Gord Pepper, and, of course, my dear old dad, Robert Wellington. Carrie crowded us around a bench, over which we draped the Outreach For Hunger banner, and we all posed smilingly in the bright sun. A lap “250” sheet, squeezed firmly between my numb fingertips, marked the welcomed end to an epic walk.
I had overcome swollen hands and gripping paranoia. I had wrestled with demons unseen and had my sanity shaved lean and stretched to the breaking point repeatedly. The wind had numbed my flesh and made me second guess my abilities, but I had muscled through waves of raging emotions, past imagined obstacles both mental and physical, and emerged wholly intact, still vertical and happily victorious, eager to tackle the next challenge at hand.
My knees were feeling each of the 100 km walked, but I noted that I felt only discomfort and not pain. The same applied to my swollen feet. Tendons, tight against the tongues of my shoes, ached for relief. But they ached only on the upper side of my ankle joint. The pads of my feet were miraculously pain-free. And I came away with only one small, insignificant blister; a direct result, I presume, of having worn two pairs of socks. (A glowing testimonial written to both the shoe and sock manufacturers is definitely in order.)
Thanks to the inspired generosity of dozens of Chatham-Kent citizens, as well as Carrie Formosa’s brilliantly organized online auction, which raised $1050, we were able to present Outreach For Hunger with a cheque in the amount of $2025.
The Go Beyond Your Limits 2 walk was the third of three fundraising walks that I spearheaded during a period of 3½ months in late 2011. Thanks to the help of family and friends, and the aforementioned generous citizens of Chatham-Kent, I am proud to say that these three walks have raised a total of $10,030 for local Chatham-Kent charities.
Equally inspiring is the fact that these walks have helped to provide numerous health benefits to Chatham-Kent citizens. Consider these statistics:
During the two Go Beyond Your Limits walks, 22 people walked a combined total of 425km and enjoyed a combined total of 113 hours of exercise. During the 7km-long Jesse’s Memorial Walk for Children’s Safety, 80 people walked a combined total of 560km and enjoyed a combined total of 120 hours of exercise. With these three walks, we managed to engage over 100 people to walk a combined total of almost 1000km, thereby benefitting from over 230 hours of exercise. To me, that’s amazing!
With the Go Beyond Your Limits series of walks, it is my hope to offer an open forum for discussing, implementing and improving the regularity of physical exercise in the lives of others.
Preventative health is the first step in keeping people healthy. It all starts with personal choice and personal responsibility. I saw a bumper sticker the other day that read, “I’m in no shape to exercise.” Although I found the sticker humorous, it also made me wonder how many other people share the same sentiment about exercise. I’m not asking people to walk across Canada, but I am asking them to think about the level of physical activity in their life and how they can increase the amount of time they spend exercising.
Walking is the simplest form of exercise there is. I encourage you to get out of your comfort zone, to take a risk. With the Go Beyond Your Limits series of walks, I am promoting a change in attitude toward exercise. Exercise doesn’t suck. It’s good for you. It’s good for your community to be populated by healthy people. Healthy people who are being responsible for their own well-being help reduce the cost of everyone’s health care. A little exercise can go a long way!
“Experiment today – go beyond your limits and see what happens. The results may surprise you!”