E-Mail This Article to a Friend Walk this way Through snow, sleet, and summer heat, I’ve learned my city one step at a time BY KRIS FRIESWICK

Summer is the best season to drive to work. I know this because I walk to work every day, and at day’s end I walk home. I’m fine walking in the winter. I can pile on layer upon layer of clothing, a face mask, glacier glasses, anorak, crampons — I’m ready for winter. Winter is a good time to walk to work. But there are only so many clothes you are legally allowed to shed when you walk to work in the summertime, and any clothes at all are too many when it’s 85 degrees, with 90 percent humidity and no wind.

As city dwellers (especially female ones) know all too well, walking to work in the summer requires only slightly less preparation than a moon landing — at least for those who are interested in maintaining congenial relationships with co-workers. For me, preparations begin the night before, with checking the weather report to determine whether I’ll need to launch a full-scale search for my umbrella. First thing the next morning, I try on my office ensemble to make sure that it coordinates (and that the pants don’t make my butt look big). Then I take off the ensemble, fold it neatly, and pack it away in a backpack, along with my makeup, shoes, purse, and, if located, the umbrella. The backpack weighs in at roughly 22 pounds. I then dress as if for the beach: sneakers, T-shirt, shorts, ponytail, shades, sunscreen, Walkman, water bottle, snack.

Lastly, I compute the day’s heat index (a complicated figure derived from a combination of the ambient temperature, wind speed, and humidity), which in turn dictates the speed at which I will walk. (Any heat index over 75 requires a plod.) Using the speed calculation, I determine the time it will take to complete the trip to the office. Before I leave the house, I have a last cup of coffee, turn on the Weather Channel, lose track of time, leave too late, double-time it to work, and show up smelling and looking like an overworked Budweiser Clydesdale. Then I spend the first half of the day soaked with sweat, shivering in my overly air-conditioned office.

Of course, this still beats taking the subway. So I walk. I walk through heat waves, soup-like humidity, and wind storms, arriving at work sticky and sanded. I walk through thunderstorms that render umbrellas and vision moot. I walk in and around piles of stuff that the heat has transformed into substances not normally found in nature. I walk through construction-zone gauntlets of leering, jeering workers; randomly swinging backhoes; flying debris; and poorly constructed hurricane fences that turn into death traps in a stiff wind.

Still I walk. I walk because I want to watch my city up close as it twists through the famous New England seasons. I walk because I have come to crave that half-hour of head space between leaving my job at the end of the day and arriving home. I walk because it’s surprising what you can learn when you do the same thing every day. How else but through my daily commute would I learn that even after you stop moving, you can continue to sweat profusely for up to three hours? Who but a devout walking commuter would know that makeup can actually evaporate under the correct summertime conditions? Only through experience would I know that aggressive jaywalking is nearly impossible when blinded by sweat, and that your feet will sink quite deeply into hot tar if you stand on it just a moment too long. By walking I’ve learned that it’s not unusual to get a second-degree sunburn on your scalp where your hair parts. That a crazy person will follow you for up to 20 minutes if you make eye contact with them even once. That you should never park behind a delivery truck on Boylston Street next to Boston Common. By walking every day, I have even learned that it is possible to sweat so much that you run out of sweat.

But most of all, I walk because every once in a while comes a clear, warm summer day when the breeze is at my back, the drivers yield and smile, the construction workers say, "Good morning, ma’am," Chinatown smells like dumplings instead of fish, all the traffic lights say walk, my city is the most beautiful place on earth, and I am moving through it all — tied to no timetable, subway line, railroad, or highway. Just one foot in front of the other.

Kris Frieswick can be reached at k.frieswick@verizon.net