Happy 14th Walking Day!

Stepping into Mile 13,354...

Today marks 14 years since I took my first steps on a prosthetic leg!

You might not remember your first steps, but when you take them a second time around, you remember everything.

I can still hear prosthetist Tim telling me, "Small with the left.  Big with the right."  (Above-knee amputees tend to take an exaggerated step with their prosthetic side.)

I can still hear him say, "Great.  That was great."   (Those words filled me with hope and joy!)

On the night of February 11, 2011, my family and I crowded around the kitchen table to watch that grainy video a thousand times on my laptop!

I knew back then I would never take walking for granted.

It's still true. 

I walk around the block every morning.  
I walk the hospital corridors at work. 
I walk around the kitchen while I'm making dinner.  
I walk in the grocery store.  
I walk on sidewalks, and across streets, and (carefully) over cobblestones.  

The gift of walking never wears off.

But 13,354 miles -- and 14 years -- is a long way from that starting line.  By the time I realize today is "Walking Day," it's mid-afternoon and snow is on the way.

Ugh.  I don't walk in snow, even after 14 years.

So I head to the gym and hop on my favorite treadmill, which offers virtual "walks" in several countries.

No problem.  I'll walk in Singapore!

It's a beautiful walking day there.  Sun reflects off the buildings.  The trees are tropical green.  The path is paved and clean.  

In my earbuds, I turn on an episode of Deviate with Rolf Potts.  He's interviewing Rick Steves about his newest book, On the Hippie Trail, a journal of his 1970's trip from Istanbul to Kathmandu as a 23-year-old.

I'm walking with my two favorite travel writers!  What better way to celebrate the day?

Walking through Singapore reminds me of my friend and fellow writer Sameer, who lives there with his family.  I met Sameer at Rolf Potts's Paris Writing Workshop in 2023.  

And thinking about that trip to Paris reminds me how far I've come.

(That's Sameer on my right!)

When I took my first steps back in 2011, I thought I'd never travel again -- at least not like I did before the accident.

In a sense, that was true. 

I travel differently now, adapting in ways I couldn't yet imagine.

The path in Singapore curves through a shady area.   I walk past signposts, trash cans, spotlights, and call boxes while Rick Steves talks about depending on fellow travelers for directions and information.

 

Wayfinding. 

I don't know why that particular word comes to mind, but it seems especially meaningful today.

I think about my doctors, nurses, and rehab therapists.  Prosthetist Tim and his amazing team.

The friends, old and new, who've helped me march on.  My family who's there for me -- always.

They are my Wayfinders.  I'd be lost without them.

It's not the best "leg day," but it's not the worst either.  I wait to feel the familiar slip of my prosthetic socket, its rub on my skin, or the tiny leak of air that tells me my steps have expired.

I keep walking, longer than I usually do.  

Farther than I think I can. 

(Not that far.  But far for me!)

Finally, my right foot starts aching.  I want to keep going, but I have to stop.  I've learned, in 14 years, to listen to my body and respect its needs.

The path opens up to a harbor filled with bobbing, gleaming yachts.  I focus on that watery horizon.  

And press STOP.

Outside the gym, the first snowflakes swirl beneath the streetlights.  In my earbuds, Rick Steves reaches Kathmandu.  On the screen, Singapore disappears.

I stand there on the treadmill, catching my breath.  Grateful for all these steps.

I could go anywhere, I think.  Anywhere at all.

Happy Walking Day,

Rebecca

 

P.S.  You can read about past "Walking Days" at Mile 335, Mile 930, Mile 2,525  Mile 3,660 and here too!

Why Adaptive Travel?

Hello from Mile Marker 13,345...

Picture this:  Two adaptive travelers are planning a trip together. 

Wait, you don't have to.  Here's a photo.

It was January 2023, and my friend Mona and I had just booked airline tickets for a nine-day trip to Paris! 

We were excited!
(Who cares that the trip was still 7 months away?)

By our sky-high smiles, you might not detect the deliberations we poured into those plans: 

The length of the trip, 

time of the flights, 

disability services at the airport, 

the seats we'd need on the plane. 

We considered packing, pressure changes, legroom, "leg time," and what it would be like for our bodies to be crunched in a seat for 8 hours straight.  (Not to mention the recovery time we'd need at either end!)

Travel is different, and often difficult, with a disability.  But it's also a priviledge, brimming with possibility.

We saw both sides.  

And couldn't wait to take that leap!

 

Recently, I was invited to speak with Wilmington Christiana Care's Amputee Education Group.  

It was my FIRST EVER presentation about Adaptive Travel!

I spent a month creating it and much longer thinking about it.   

You could say I'd been working on it since my very first trip as an amputee.

That was Mile 21, a road trip to Maine
where I got by with A LOT of help from my friends!

 

I started the workshop with some ways to think about travel and what we bring with us -- our individual strengths and struggles, and how they might play out when we're away from home.  

When we travel, we can adapt ourselves, but we can also adapt our environment.  

Who are YOU as a traveler?  

What do you want -- and need -- along the way? 

It's only afterward, that I decide to do this exercise for myself.

(Go ahead.  It's fun to try!)

As a traveler, I'm... 

curious.  
resourceful.  
open-minded.  
optimistic.  

I like to laugh, talk to locals, and observe "everyday life" wherever I am.

I love to learn, especially about other cultures
like at this Danish pastry class!

Before my injuries, I traveled solo.

Now I take friends.

I want to do everything, but I need to be selective.  I have to prioritize mobility, comfort, rest, and digestion.  

(It's a delicate balance, one I often neglect!)

I've found some success...

But it's rarely stressless or pain-free.  

My needs outweigh my wants wherever I am.  

Take prosthetic fit, for example -- and the neverending struggle to manage it!

I can walk, but not too far.  

I can stand, but not too long.

I can sit, but not in every seat.

I make mistakes, often the same ones, over and over again...

Adaptability isn't the same as accessibility.  

Being adaptive can't remove all barriers.  Some needs are nonnegotiable.  

We might require elevators, ramps, wider doorways, shower seats, assistive devices, screen readers, closed captions, caregivers, or other accommodations.

But travel goes beyond the physical. 

 

It's a mindset too.

One we can adopt wherever we are!

For a budding travel writer, I don't actually travel much.

But seeing myself as a traveler changes the way I experience home too.  

On a morning walk, I pick up patterns on buildings, catch crumbs of conversation, and marvel at the myriad of winter coats worn by dogs.  

I take advantage of opportunities:  sign up for classes, taste new foods, read books, watch movies, and reach out to faraway friends.

Being an adaptive traveler isn't just about where you go, it's about how.  It empowers us to explore, even in our own neighborhood!

My travel-buddy Mona is not just adaptive.  She's wise too. 

Before we embarked on that trip together, she said something that's always stuck with me.  I'll paraphrase it here:

There's no scenerio where I'll be able to travel without my disability.  So if I want to go, I'll have to travel with it.

Merci Mona! 
Tu es très sage!

We shape our experiences.  And our experiences shape us.

That's the why of Adaptive Travel.

Walk on,

Rebecca

P.S.  If you or your group wants to talk more about Adaptive Travel, please reach out.  I'd love to be part of the conversation!  

Travel through Books: Read Around the World 2024!

Yes, I know it's 2025, but it just occurred to me that maybe -- in these cold days of January -- the best way to travel is to park myself safely on the couch under a fleece blanket!

Maybe you feel the same way??

Seems like the perfect time to bring out a reading list I compiled for our Adaptive Travel Summit last September. 

Fiction.  Nonfiction.  Memoir.  Travel guides.  Photography.  

They're just a sprinkling of all the great books out there, but they represent some of my favorite "places to go" through the years!

So grab a blanket.  

Pour some tea.  

Prepare for take-off...

REBECCA'S RECS:  
READ AROUND THE WORLD 2024!

Travel and disability: Easy Beauty by Chloé Cooper Jones

Train travel: Around the World in 80 Trains by Monisha Rajesh  (Loved the audiobook!)

Travel meditations & wanderlust: The Vagabond’s Way by Rolf Potts

Outdoor adventure & photography: Stories Behind the Images by Corey Rich

Go local: A Guide to the Great Gardens of the Philadelphia Region by Adam Levine

France and food: Chocolat by Joanne Harris  (It’s also a movie!)

Denmark, winter, and happiness: The Little Book of Hygge by Meik Wiking

Spain (by an 80’s star turned travel writer!): Walking with Sam by Andrew McCarthy 

Nigeria and humor: My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

Japan and time travel: Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi  (It's the first in a series!)  

India, Australia, and search for family: A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley  (It’s also a movie called Lion!) 

Where possible, I've linked to Bookshop.org which supports independent booksellers, but most of these are available everywhere, including the public library.  Several make fantastic audiobooks too!

My favorite reading mug from
Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, VT:
"Go Away. I'm Reading."

Do you travel through books?  

What are you reading -- or listening to -- these days?

Got recommendations?  Leave a comment!

I'm working on 2025's list -- and always looking for the next book to carry me away!

Read on,
Rebecca

Mile Marker 13,270

OPEN

It's 2025.

When I open my eyes in the morning, this is what I see.

It's just a photo, framed on my bedroom wall, but I've planned it this way.  It's purposefully placed, a kind of "photo-therapy."

This one image is everything I need to get out of bed:

Morning light.
Street sounds.

A gentle breeze.

Hope, piled high, for the day ahead.

It's the view from my Paris Airbnb, which I admit was a nice place to be first thing in the morning.  

I can still feel that duvet on the toes of my bare foot, smell the owner's leather jacket hanging in the closet, hear the bell ting on the city bus below.

But there's more.

This photo captures a moment I always savor -- even at home -- that delicate space between asleep and awake.  

In this moment, I haven't yet put my leg on,

or seen my crutches stacked up,
or tried to digest food, 
or juggled "too big" ideas,
or tackled the "to-do" list on which I'm already behind.

I'm not yet zapped of energy -- or frustrated by discomfort -- as I trek the distance others go without much effort at all.  

In this one moment, there is just me and that open window.  My body is not fractured, and the day is still whole, pointed with possibility like sun through a magnifying glass.

It's all the motivation I need.

On New Year's Eve in Scotland, at the stroke of midnight, people open the doors of their homes -- front and back -- to let the old year escape and the new year rush in.

My friend Jen will tell you we did it this year.

"Quick!  Go!" 

In my small apartment, she rushes to open the "front" hallway door while I yank open the "back" door to the balcony.

It's raining outside.  The air blows cold with moisture, car horns, and the boom of fireworks we hear but can't see.

(By time I remember this tradition, it's 12:15 AM, but we get it done!)

The new year is OPEN for business, and I open my whole self to it.

Open door.

Open window.
Open mind.

Open to ideas and experiences, no matter how small.

Open intestines (DIGEST!) and lungs (BREATHE!).
Open eyes -- and senses.

Open book(s) -- and inkflow.

Not every day will feel this way, I know.  Some days, I won't be able to leave the apartment because of leg issues or abdominal pain.

Other days, I'll carve a slow path around the block.  

On the best days, I'll explore locally.  Or, if I'm lucky, farther.

Wherever I go, I'll write.  

I've got other projects too.  Ideas are plentiful this time of year.  The journey may change shape along the way, but isn't that what adaptive travel is all about?

I'm "open" to it.   (Want to come?)

Get up.  Get dressed. 

Let's see what's beyond that window.

Happy and healthy new year!
Rebecca

Mile Marker 13,255

Paris Is Still There

 A quick hello from Mile Marker 13,170!

I'm hurrying through the breakfast dishes, water splashing up my sleeves, my brain barreling ahead at breakneck speed, when an alert pops up on my phone.

It's from Bonjour RATP, the Paris transit app.

Alerting me to line closures for the weekend.

I'm usually aggravated by those rings, tings, and buzzes.  They remind me I'm not keeping up.  

But this one is different.  It carries me away.

Paris, is seems, is still out there.  

Moving at its own pace.  Doing its Parisian thing.

That thought takes me back to my after-dinner Instagram scroll last night.  (When my body's too tired to clean up the kitchen, for some reason my thumb has plenty of energy!) 

Now, I replay those photos and captions, sprinkled with snowflakes throughout my feed.

For the first time in over a decade, there was a November snowfall in Paris! 

...I saw it on my own screen!

In real life, snow would throw me off balance.  But not snow in Paris.  Not right now.

In my mind, I can walk in any weather. :)  

I'm halfway through the dishes.  My fingers squeeze out the sponge, soft on one side, scratchy on the other.  The smell of dishsoap fills the air.  

But I'm no longer standing at the sink.  

I've soared across the ocean, over green fields and wine country, to an enchanted city that somehow, impossibly, still exists.  

I pause to imagine myself there.

What Métro would I ride?

Ligne 7.

What would I be sipping, right now, at Café Méjane?

The best pumpkin spice latte in the world!
Bien sur!

Here at home, this month has felt like a miles-long sprint.

I rush through morning walks.  

Catch up on work at lunchtime. 

Adjust my leg on the fly.   

Curl up with abdominal pain at night.  

Everything takes me longer than it used to.  I need more rest.  My body breaks down when I don't give it the time it needs.  These lessons I've learned well.

But even after 14 years, the New Normal is an uncomfortable place to be.

I shut off the water.  

The dishes are clean, but not much else has changed.   

And yet, I feel transformed by this one small miracle:  the ability to stand with my feet in one place and my mind in another.  

I know it's just memory, but it feels like a superpower.

Paris is still there.  Moving at its own speed.  

(Or, more likely,
lingering over a long déjeuner!)

I wish I were there too.

It's reassuring to know that when life moves too fast, traveling to a place we love -- even for a moment, even in our minds -- can help slow things down.

I've gotta get going.  But I know Paris will be there.

Whenever, and wherever, I need it.

Walk on,
Rebecca

P.S.  Do you have a place (or pace) that takes you away?  I'd love to hear how you "travel" there!

Daycation: Almost Japan

こんにちは (Kon'nichiwa) from Mile Marker 13,140!

The Shofuso Japanese House and Garden is like dipping your toes into 17th century Japan without leaving 21st century Philly.

It's so peaceful -- I imagine I could live here.

But in real life -- I wouldn't last a day.

(Let's just say, I don't squat well!) 

At Mile 13,140, I step into my 14th year as an above-knee amputee.  

In socks!

It's November 9, and I want to celebrate my Alive Day, but the past few weeks have been exhausting, sorrowful, and filled with difficult news.  

I don't have the energy (or leg time) to go big or go far, but I'm still so grateful to be alive.  

So I'm searching out joy -- at least for a mile or two.

Enter the DAYCATION.

It's short.

It's sweet.
It takes minimal planning.  
And it stays close to home.

Is there nothing more perfect for an adaptive traveler?!

Friends Jasmine and Mark join me for a quick drive to the Shofuso Japanese Cultural Center in West Fairmount Park.  

Technically, we're still in Philly.  Does it even count as a daycation?  

(Jasmine says yes, and she introduced me to the word, so we're going with it!)

Anyway, a daycation is just what the doctor ordered. :)

Here, Japanese maples turn coral in the sun.
A school of koi circles the pond, eyes bulging, mouths gulping.

It's mesmerizing.

House rules.  We remove our shoes.  

Shoe-covers are provided for those who can't walk in socks, but they look a bit slippery.  

I decide to give socks a try.  Luckily, there's a bench to sit on to take off my shoes.

Even after 14 years, this gets a laugh!

The wood is warm in the sun, icy in the shade; the planks and bamboo are unexpectedly soft.  These sensations surprise me.

Because I live in shoes. 

My right foot rejoices.  But I'm surprised, even more, that on these surfaces, my prosthetic (left) foot does have some traction. 

At home, I've learned the hard way not to walk in socks.  (Remember Souperficial Wounds??)

But in "almost Japan," it almost works.  I watch my footing carefully, but it feels almost right.

The house is embedded in nature, its boxy rooms connected by wooden bridges through the foliage.  

Like a treehouse built into the landscape!

There's a Japanese tea cermony about to happen.  We're not invited, but I watch from afar.  

On the sidelines, I spy a hidden pile of modern thermoses and hot pots.  I love a peek behind the scenes. :)

We learn a few tidbits about Shinto, and the Minka style of housing.  

Then I lace up my sneakers again and use trekking poles to navigate the rocky garden paths.

I'm most charmed by one of the guides, Jennie, who tells us about her own recent trip to Japan.  

She describes how, in a restuarant in a rural town, the chef emerged from the kitchen to talk with her friend about her gluten allergy before preparing their food.  They were touched by his welcome and kindness.

I am too.  I love the human side of travel!

A mere hour later, we're back in the car, heading toward Chinatown.

Our daycation ends with a steaming bowl of ramen at a restaurant we've never tried -- Megumi.

It's a 5-Star end to the morning.

And best of all, it's on the way home!

This daycation -- a short, sweet adventure -- leaves me refreshed.  I'm ready to welcome another year on this journey.

Here's to travel near and far! 

Wherever you are, thank you for walking with me.

xo,

Rebecca

The Air Tonight

Mile Marker 13,133:  

Hello from Love Park, where the air is buzzing, bracing, and bittersweet.

I'm heading to the bus stop on my way home from work.  

It's not a great leg day.  I would have driven back and forth, but I was worried about tonight. I imagined road closures, protests, and chaos in the city.  I didn't want to be stuck in traffic.

But as I walk, I see there's none of that.  

It's an ordinary evening, yet also extraordinary, because tomorrow is Election Day.  And no one knows what's to come.

I wander among the murals here,

absorbing their messages, admiring their art,

feeling their energy.

People smile.  I smile back. 

A boy with gold curls runs under the spray of the fountain.

Two students play pingpong, backbacks dropped at their feet. 

Excitement and cameraderie hang in the air.

I join a dozen others who've gathered around the portal.  

It's a new addition to Philly -- an international camera set smackdab in the center of the city, a living sculpture that connects us digitally, in real time, with three other cities around the world.  

It's kind of miraculous.

We're waving to people in Lublin, Poland, where it's 10 PM.  A man and woman wave back at us.  Hold up peace signs.  Twirl each other in dance.  

We wave back -- well, Philly style :)

The calm feels temporary though, like we're standing on a precipice. 

It reminds me of the earthquake in 2011, my first day back to work after the accident, when we joined together in uncertainty.  Or those first few days of COVID, when we realized how fragile our connections are.  

I'm glad to be here now because... who knows what will happen tomorrow?  

My prosthesis is beginning to poke, so I make my way toward 15th & Market to catch the bus.

As I pass the LOVE statue, I see two young men taking photos of each other.  I offer to take one of them together. 

They pose, arms over shoulders, with the Parkway spread behind them.  It's the iconic Philly shot.

"It's my first time in Philadelphia," one of them tells me as I hand the phone back.  His name is Naman, and he's from India.  His cousin, who's lived here for 20 years, is showing him around.

Naman asks if he can get a picture with me. 

"With me?" I say.  It makes me laugh.  But it also feels natural, like -- of course -- why shouldn't we be friends on this ordinary, extraordinary afternoon?

I wish him happy and safe travels!

When I finally reach the bus stop, the 33 bus is just pulling away.  (This, too, is typical of Philly.)

So I stand there a while longer, feeling the pinch of my prosthesis.  Taking it all in.  

Leaves rustle.

Lights change.

Pigeons fly.

Motors hum. 

People of all shapes, sizes, and colors walk, jog, scoot, bike, and roll through the crosswalks.  

I want to freeze this moment, bottle up this connection and community, hold tightly to this joy of "not knowing" what's to come.

I want to stand here forever, breathing in this air full of hope. 

 

Walk on,

Rebecca

*This postcard is for my friend Jodie, who cheered me on always, and devoted her entire career to bringing our city together.  Jodie, you would have loved the air tonight.  I'll miss you and so will Philly. xoxo

Buongiorno et bon matin...

...from the Italian Market!

Yes, I know that's a language mashup, but that's where I am.  

Qui. Maintenant.  Here. Now.

Mile 12,615 =  Kilomètre 20,302

I'm gearing up for travel.

In just two weeks, I leave for Paris -- yes, Paris! -- to join travel writer Rolf Potts, and a whole new group of classmates for the advanced version of the travel memoir class I took there last summer.  I can't wait!

So I'd better brush up on my writing -- and walking.

Here at home, my little red car, "Happy," has just passed her 10,000th mile.

To celebrate, and sneak in some walking/writing, we drive down to our old favorite, Gleaner's, for a coffee and stroll through the Italian Market. 

The smell of baking bread leads the way.  
It fades into roasted coffee,

sugared dough,

melted tar, 

and garbage juice, spilled from a leaky bag.

In the first three blocks, I hear four languages:  Spanish, Italian, Cambodian (I think), and Greek. 

  

And this one??

It's barely 7:30.  The sun is still low.  The sidewalks are shady.  The breeze feels uncommonly cool.

I pass a bookstore, not yet open, with boxes stacked outside.  A scribbled sign says FREE.  The middle box sags with paperbacks of The Babysitter's Club, piled high like a mound of rainbow jimmies.  (Or "sprinkles" for you out-of-towners.) 

When I reach Passyunk (say "Pash-yunk"), a cheesesteak truck is parked inside an overgrown community garden.  

Pretty much Philly in a nutshell.

I turn onto a narrow street of rowhomes.  

A mirrored chrome railing reminds me of an 80's rollerskating rink.  A toddler's kitchen playset sits atop a metal grate.  How many toys (and shoes) have been dropped through those cracks?

It's a good leg day so far.  

On days like this, I feel like I could walk miles.  But I know better.  

The sun is getting higher.  

My prosthetic's getting looser.  

While I'm comfortable, like now, my feet and mind can wander.  But it's early yet.  

I need to save energy -- and precious leg time -- for the rest of the day.

So I turn up 7th, back toward the car.  

This patch of road used to be part of my bike route to work.  I pedaled through here every morning for years.  

I knew where cars rolled through the 4-way stop.  I knew where every pothole was.  

It looks different now. 

Smoother.  Brighter.

I almost don't recognize it.

But then, come the bikers.  

They whisper by in clusters, two and three at a time, helmets strapped, backpacks bouncing behind them in crates and saddlebags.  

7th Street, I realize, has become a bike superhighway.  

It feels good to walk among them.

When I arrive back at the car, my coffee cup is empty, but my notebook is full. 

And I'm happy to be here.

Walk on,

Rebecca