It takes about 75 steps to walk from the entry of my studio apartment to the back of the bathroom. That’s the farthest I could possibly walk indoors. I know because I must have made the trek thousands of times trying to hit my smartwatch’s step goal while shutting out the coronavirus outbreak.
My career brought me to Washington, D.C., from New Mexico, and I had lived there for three years. But cramped in a 350-square-foot studio with the nation in lockdown, I felt marooned from my family, which was already one member short.
My stepfather had died unexpectedly in December, two days before his 60th birthday.
Dodging cars on my bike while riding to work, seeing movies with friends, or even letting my dog loose at the dog park, these things had kept me distracted.
Then coronavirus hit….