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For more than four years, I have walked to and from work. But that's about to change.
It's about three kilometres each way, which is more than I used to walk in a week. I grew up in Saint John, N.B., in a car culture so ingrained that I'd drive to the cinemas a block from my parents' house. In undergrad, I never lived more than two minutes from campus. Walking always seemed like a waste of time.
Now, I'm in Toronto. I hated the pedestrian commute at first, despite the city's sheer walk-ability. There was little joy in those first few months of sore legs, or on those days spent trudging more than an hour through a blizzard or rain storm. But here's the thing: It's still better than standing for 15 minutes in a blizzard or monsoon, waiting for a streetcar that never comes.
I'm a reporter here at The Globe and Mail, trained to dispassionately report the news, and a millennial culturally moulded to express any personal feelings through sarcasm; I am not used to earnestness. But I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that walking to work everyday has made me both physically and mentally healthier. It wakes me up in the morning and winds me down at night. And walking has shown me what Toronto is, shown me how Toronto is changing and made Toronto feel like home.
After throwing out the flyers in my mailbox each morning, I start zig-zagging through the West End then cut through Trinity Bellwoods Park. As I pass by Gore Vale Avenue, I glance up at my old apartment, a basement palace on the park, torn from my clutches four years ago. It was here that I first decided to walk to work – an easy 20 minute stroll.
Moving west forced me further away from The Globe, though it only made the walk more interesting. I grew up a music fan far from Toronto and learning who I share my community with has been a pleasant surprise. Sometimes, I'll see Broken Social Scene's Kevin Drew holding court outside a coffee shop or the Barenaked Ladies' Jim Creeggan running with his dog. Or, after cutting through Bellwoods, I might notice Ron Sexsmith, eyes glazed, walking to the store.
It's the park, usually, that I most enjoy. I'm a Maritimer who gave up the coast for the city. I expected a life cloistered in a car or bus – and instead, I get to spend my commute surrounded by trees. When I first noticed that taking public transit to work took longer than walking, I took three months' worth of fares and spent it on a parka. I've never gotten a better return on an investment. I could be stuck on the TTC, on the DVP or the Gardiner Expressway, burning dollars by the minute; instead, I'm getting fresh air and killing calories no matter how blustery.
Toronto summer walks are worse than winters anyway. Your route must be wholly deliberate; each stride not taken in the shade melts you into a mop of sweat. The park is a no-shade zone, but on Queen West, there is space to be strategic. I cross to the south side as soon as possible, usually at Niagara Street, using the city grid's northeast slope to seek shelter in the shadows.
And it's here, on Queen West, that I've watched Toronto transform. As all things hip shove westward, climbing rents have followed. I've watched countless small businesses sneak away or close for good and what seems like 400,000 weed dispensaries open their doors, some even opening for a second time after raids. Even the Starbucks at Queen and Claremont has been gentrified off of the street – displaced, most likely, by more conveniently located Starbuckses. When I first moved here seven years ago, I thought I was encroaching on a city whose identity was concrete. But it is neither so static nor so simple.
I realize this more each day as I walk east past the bland artery of Bathurst Street and deliberately turn south on Portland. Here, I pass a language school where dozens of students from all over the world crack jokes and smoke, each finding their place in the growing city I've chosen to live in. And it was here on one wintery, -25 C day at Portland and Richmond, where I had a small revelation.
I had just narrowly avoided being hit by a car when a woman came over to me. "I walk an hour to work every day, and this is the most dangerous intersection," she sympathized. "I walk, too," I said, "but I guess you learn something new every day."
It was small talk, but true. I was still learning about my corner of the city, despite walking this route at least 2,000 times. And it turned out I wasn't alone. How many thousands of Torontonians who could afford to drive or take public transit chose to trudge instead, passing each other without a glance each day, secretly savouring the city with each step? There's always more to discover.
For 42 years The Globe has been run out of a jerry-rigged printing press plant at 444 Front St., previously owned by the Toronto Telegram. We move to the east side of downtown next week – a few kilometres too far to justify walking. I'm looking forward to working in a building with fresh-air circulation and windows on all four walls. But I'll miss the walk.
Josh O'Kane lives in Toronto. (Obviously.)