In a month I journey 154km ... blimey ... that's from here to the Wairakei steam fields.
"Oh do go on," I hear you say.
"Do bore us to tears with how far you will have propelled your feet which are clad in wretchedly cheapskate $19.99 sneakers over the period of one year."
Well, the answer is quite staggering.
"Oh do tell," I hear you chorusing.
Well ... it's 1848km and that is the roughly the distance from North Cape to the southernmost tip of Stewart Island. Or from Invercargill to Hobart, or from Adelaide to Brisbane.
Or from here to Taupo and back ...13 times.
In 207 years I would have walked from here to the Moon.
Remarkable, and little wonder the $19.99 shoes are not taking this new regime of fitness terribly well. I shall have to cut out and insert more cardboard sole-liners.
I used to hear people say they traversed the whatever track or trail, or how they chose to take a 40-minute walk every day and I'd jestfully remark something along the lines of "what for when there are perfectly good bus services available?"
But now I am a part of that mobilised infantry for no other reason that I determined it was time to dissolve a few pounds away and retain the level of fitness I possessed a decade ago. And on both counts it is working.
And besides, walks can be quite entertaining.
I decided to walk into work one day last week - a mere 35-minute wander.
But in the relatively quiet 6.30am early sunlight it's rather refreshing for the soul.
I wandered through a park and drew scant attention from seven seagulls, and one duck, who were gathered in the centre. That's when I spotted a cat, crouched and curious, about 50m from them and admired his optimism for believing he could get a meal here.
The flock of birds ignored me, but moggy slinked off.
The walk then revealed the sort of thing David Attenborough would even be impressed by. Why do sparrows hop up into the front air intake vents of cars?
I slowed and watched as three little chaps flew in, pecked about, and flew out again.
As I approached cautiously, I could see why. They were plucking the squashed, and I daresay lightly-broiled, carcasses of insects from the grilled faces of radiators which they had slammed into.
Brilliant.
Meals on wheels.
Further along the road I saw a sign on a gate which declared "Beware of the Dog" and as I clumped past it barked.
I sharply responded "oh shut up" and it did.
He looked at me in a curious way, so I stopped and said "that's a good lad" and he just lay down.
Beware indeed ... beware of any ne'er-do-well who tells him to shut up and then placates him in a friendly tone.
I short-cutted across a carpark near a fast-food takeaway and was most impressed by the cleanliness of the parking area ... last time I sauntered through there it was a sea of styrofoam and paper flotsam.
But there was an item of human flotsam in the form of a bloke who clearly hadn't made it home from the night before. He looked worse for wear ... his head as empty as the aluminium vessel he still clutched in one hand.
I walked around the street-cleaning chaps who were using blowers to push leaves and debris into the path of a sort of vacuum thing. The city did look fresh and clean, although I almost approached and suggested they go and vacuum up the slab of humanity I spotted near the takeaway.
I arrived at work, knees and ankles just fine and heart beating soundly ... another gram discarded.
It's easy to get hooked on this gig.
All it costs is $19.99 every now and then.
Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.
