As published in Motherwell Magazine.

It began over twenty-five years ago in my desperate bid to regain my body after the birth of my last child. It turned out to be much more than an exercise regime.

I was a stay-at-home mom with three children—two kids in school, and one a napping baby. I lived for those naps as they gave me time to get stuff done. None of that stuff included exercise.

One day, a friend said, “You should come out walking with us. It’s a great way to get back in shape. Only thing is, we go at 5:30 am.”

5:30 am? “No thanks!” I said. “My sleep is too important to me.” But morning after morning, I’d hear my friend and a few others pass by my house, chirping like the robins nesting in the spring trees outside my window. Sometimes they’d even call out, “Julie, Julie, come out and play.” I resisted as long as I could, but finally one day, I rose, threw on my sweats and headed out the door to join them. “Why not?” I thought, “I’m awake anyway.”

I repeated this act three or four days a week over the course of the next several years, rain or shine. It gave me a chance to get out of the house without my kids, to exercise before the day got busy, and to share my thoughts and ideas with empathetic people in the same stage of life. We walked fast, and talked faster, about everything under the sun (i.e. mostly our kids). In those early days, all of us—whether stay-at-home or working elsewhere—were consumed with parenting. Potty-training (“Can I let my kid just walk around naked?) led to play-dates (“My kid is obsessed with this boy in kindergarten, makes me call the mom every day for a playdate. But the kid never wants to come!”) led to bullying, dating, depression, broken hearts, love, mental illness, criminal behavior, college—you name it, our kids have gone through it. And so have we…together.

One day it seemed we could talk of nothing but our kids. Then we started talking about our parents. My dad got cancer and died. My mother had to move out into a retirement center. My friend’s stepfather died suddenly of sepsis after a routine hospital procedure. Another friend moved both her parents to a house near hers. Our caretaking skills, and our conversation, expanded to include these new responsibilities. We suffered other losses, too, and found new joys to celebrate. Marriages, job successes, and now, even grandchildren.

There are seven of us in the group. We call ourselves the “Walkie-Talkies,” even though we stopped walking in the early mornings long ago. We can walk—or not—anytime now. Still, we get together for regular hikes or even more regular glasses of wine. A few of us have moved away from the neighborhood. We stay in touch, through texts, phone calls, beach trips and even Zoom happy hours. These people are important to me.

It started as an exercise regime. It did lead to a lot of walking—thousands upon thousands of steps over the years. My physical health certainly benefited from all those steps. It also led to a lot of talking. My mental health benefited even more. So if a friend asks you to rise in the early morning hours and head out on the streets in your sneakers, I recommend you say yes. You’ll regain a lot more than your body. If you’re lucky, you’ll gain a world of support to sustain you until the very end.