Walking 100,000 Steps Across Chengdu (Part 3)

Leaving Abu’s bike shop felt strangely emotional. For the first half of the day, the walk had felt festive. People hopped on and off the route. Friends appeared unexpectedly. But now the tone shifted. The charming city walk was over. Ahead lay the less glamorous portion of the adventure, the long industrial march back to Pidu.

The route home was walkable, but not exactly scenic. Gone were the historic neighborhoods, winding rivers, and iconic Chengdu landmarks. Instead, the city slowly gave way to commercial roads, warehouses, and long stretches of concrete that seemed to extend endlessly into the horizon.

At this point, I had planned for Lionel to hop into the running stroller while I pushed onward. Thankfully, those plans had already changed. After carrying Lionel for nearly 10,000 steps earlier in the day, I was incredibly grateful that Xiao Hong had picked him up. Instead of suffering through another eight hours beside me, Lionel could spend the afternoon resting, eating snacks, and playing with his friend Kimi. Meanwhile, I still had approximately the distance of a half marathon remaining.

Fortunately, I wasn’t walking alone.

One of my favorite colleagues, and Lionel’s beloved P.E. teacher, Mr. Smile had volunteered to accompany me for the roughly 20-mile march back toward Pidu. If there is anyone you want beside you during an objectively bad idea, it is someone whose entire personality is “Let’s Do this Thing”. The second half of the walk felt completely different from the first.

The cold rain of the morning had disappeared, replaced by sunshine and warming temperatures. We no longer had to coordinate meeting points or monitor WeChat for incoming walkers. For the first couple of hours, Mr. Smile and I remained in good spirits. For a while, the miles passed surprisingly quickly as we talked about students, travel, parenting, culture, and memories. Then 5:00 p.m. arrived. And suddenly…We felt it.

Mr. Smile’s lower back began protesting. My feet began sending increasingly threatening messages to my brain. Every step began to feel forced, rather then automatic. Fortunately, Mr. Smile had come prepared with his Bluetooth speaker. Soon, my carefully curated specialty walking playlist began echoing along the roadside.

Mr. Smile’s lower back began protesting. My feet began sending increasingly threatening messages to my brain. Every step began to feel forced, rather then automatic. Fortunately, Mr. Smile had come prepared with his Bluetooth speaker. Soon, my carefully curated specialty walking playlist began echoing along the roadside.

There is something deeply motivating about listening to nostalgic music while doing something physically miserable. For another forty minutes, we shuffled onward, buoyed by musical distraction.

Eventually, the streets began to look familiar as we reached the Pidu district. When I reached a familiar intersection that was only about three kilometers from my house, victory felt close. At around 93,000 steps, things had become… strange. My legs felt shaky. My body vibrated in a way I can only describe as human tuning fork. I felt oddly detached from myself, somewhere between exhausted and mildly delirious. Words became harder to form. At some point, I realized I had temporarily lost my directional awareness on roads I traveled all the time. Thankfully, another colleague, Nathan, arrived heroically on a bicycle.

The savior immediately relieved us of our backpacks. Upon lifting them, he looked alarmed. Apparently, carrying excessive drinks, giant battery packs, snacks, and emergency supplies was idiotic planning on behalf. The moment that bag came off my shoulders felt miraculous. I felt a little more energy in my body.

At around 97,000 steps, we encountered another obstacle. A massive drone show had taken over the area near the school, the spot we were planning to finish at, drawing huge crowds. While a triumphant finish photo beneath thousands of drones sounded cool in theory, I had absolutely zero interest in spending an extra hour trapped in crowds waiting for transportation afterward.

So we rerouted our walk. Another teacher from my school, Mrs. Nina and her daughter, joined us for the final stretch, and by then I was operating almost entirely on stubbornness.

My brain at this point had become deeply unreliable. Nathan kept a close eye on me, likely concerned I might wander into traffic while chasing imaginary finish lines. And then finally…I reached the last 100 steps. Those final moments somehow felt both triumphant and agonizing. When the pedometer finally clicked over to 100,000, I immediately sat down. I had a very feeble celebratory picture. I was relieved to be finished, but I certainly didn’t feel great. Nathan graciously ran and grabbed me a Gatorade.

After finishing my Gatorade and briefly considering whether I would ever willingly walk again, I realized home sat only about 1,000 meters away. I did not want to walk anymore. So naturally…Nathan and I ran. Oddly enough, it felt good. A different part of my foot struck the pavement, which somehow hurt less than walking. The human body is weird. Right around 9:00 p.m., I walked through the front door and into the arms of my wife. Lionel was already asleep.

The little guy had spent the afternoon recovering, only to announce the next day that he wanted to go for another walk. Meanwhile, I needed approximately seven full days of spring break to recover from the experience.

In the end, this may have been our most successful Hope in Motion challenge yet. It wasn’t really about the number. Not the 72 kilometers (45 miles). Not the 17 and a half hours. Not even Lionel’s absurd 62,000 steps in eight and a half hours. It was about the people. Over 75 people had participated throughout the day. Walkers from multiple provinces and countries. People had shown up, not because walking ridiculous distances sounded fun, but because they believed in bringing visibility to those with low vision.