don’t remember the year but I remember it was my birthday and I was in elementary school. My parents purchased me an aqua blue 10-speed Schwinn from Baker’s and I was speechless. It had the looped handlebars with transparent Caribbean blue tape on them. I was in heaven and I rode that thing all the time to visit my friends. But that was about it. In my cut-off suburban neighborhood, there really wasn’t anywhere else to go. School was too far away and we were required to ride the bus. We had no shops for miles and we were isolated by State Route 60.  Our local roads were too pothole-filled, dark and narrow to ride far on, and we all had the elbow scars to prove it.

But then, I went to Penn State at University Park, and I learned to walk everywhere. (Well, except when it was raining or a blizzard, and then we grabbed the Campus Loop at Parking Lot 80.) None of us had cars. My first class was a mile from my East Halls dorm (and I had to pass The Creamery, which often led to a dietary diversion on the way home.) We walked to the fraternities, to the local general store, McLanahans, to our shifts at The Daily Collegian, to the Weis Market, and once we were of age (wink!), to the bars. None of us gained the Freshman 10 because we walked too dang much, in the watchful shade of historic elms. We also had to take six gym classes to graduate, so that also helped.

Later, in our first, and subsequent second Mt. Lebanon homes, both on sidewalked streets, with places to go, playgrounds nearby, walkable dining options and beautiful tree-lined streets, we continued the joy of motion. The Kodachrome snapshot collages in the years ahead: a baby in a stroller, walking every night after dinner with my first iPod, dogs on leashes, a toddler on a Huffy Green Machine, us in running shoes wearing GPS watches, walking to Markham, pups at the block party, training wheels off, preparing for a half marathon, dragging a wagon full of wine bottles down the sidewalk during the progressive dinner. True mobility means all things to our small family, two-leggers and four-leggers alike. This freedom to move around our town, to stay connected, to stay healthy and to stay motivated are part of why I’m glad I live here and not in cut-off suburbia — because you CAN get there from here.

A lot of you feel the way I do, and many Mt. Lebanon volunteers have stepped forward to ensure that safe movement around town stays top of mind for public officials. Read Rachel Windsor’s story. I’d say they are walking the walk, but that doesn’t begin to cover it.