This article was written by Callie Leaver, a Certified Personal Trainer in Atlanta, Georgia.

Okay I'll be honest; walking as a form of exercise just isn't my thing. I am a jogger/runner and have been for many years. But in 2001, along with other friends, I signed up for the Avon 3 Day Walk, which is now known as the Breast Cancer 3 Day Walk. The walk was 20 miles a day for three days straight. We decided to participate in the walk after several close friends were diagnosed with breast cancer.

The training was very different from my running regimen. Often I found myself dreading those long walk training days. Throughout I kept in mind the true reason I was walking and how much my participation and fund raising meant to my friends and others impacted by the disease. I often recalled meeting with my friends after their scheduled treatment and how ill they felt. Somehow, they managed to smile. These memories kept me in check and kept me walking.

Crossing great distances by foot was never something that caused anxiety for me growing up. I started running cross country in junior high school and would easily run five or ten miles in an afternoon.

I ran cross country in the fall, indoor track in the winter and spring track in the spring. During the summer, I ran an average of about seventy miles a week to stay in shape. I was co-captain of the Men’s track team and held the school record in the hurdles.

Deciding I wanted to get back into shape after putting on a lot of weight during my pregnancy was easier than doing it. I tried a lot of different diets including Atkins and discovered that deprivation wasn’t something that worked for me. I simply couldn’t stick to a diet that cut out a lot of my favorite foods entirely.

When the quick fixes didn’t work, I started watching my portions and eating three or four small meals a day. Still, the pounds didn’t shed. I discovered that thinking I wanted to lose the weight and get into shape was a heck of lot easier than putting that thought into action. Action was what I needed though.

I have always been a walker, for as long as I can remember. Born to parents both from poor Dublin families, a car was, both in their youth and in mine, something of a luxury. And so we walked. My father, as a young sales representative, had a beat up car that got him from A to B, but my mother, my elder brother and I were left to walk until years later, when my mother learned to drive.

And though she loved her little mini car, her youthful walking days remained with her, and so we often went walking for pleasure. Only an hour’s drive from the countryside, we would escape Dublin every Sunday to go driving – until we reached where we were going, and would get out and walk.

But like most teenagers finding their way in the world, I rebelled against this family tradition, and spent a few years rolling my eyes in disdain whenever the pointless exertion of walking was suggested. Until, that is, like many teenage girls, I became aware of my developing female form, and began to undertake whatever methods I had to keep it under control.