The conversation began this way back in the fall:

Friend: "I think you should start walking. Five miles a day. It'll be good for you."

Me: "No."

Friend: "No, I think you should start walking. Five miles a day. It'll be good for you."

Me: "OK."

(I really am a soft touch).

The next conversation, a few weeks ago, went like this:

Friend: "Have you ever considered running a 5K?"

Me: "No."

Friend: "Well, you are going to run the Winthrop (School in New London) 5K in the spring."

Me: "OK."

So now I am an official walker/runner. Call me a wunner. Or a ralker. Whatever. Just can I tell you it's become my absolute favorite part of every day?

My walks over the Niantic River Bridge and my runs on the Boardwalk have been educational. I've learned so much. About myself. It's therapy, only free. And without someone in the room with you talking about Freud. I talk to myself, counsel myself. Lost 20 pounds. (Proverbial deck chair off Titanic, sure. But we're getting there). I've even added an earlier road race: The Niantic Boardwalk 5K in April. Our guy Paul Palazzo, a trainer at Advantage in Niantic, has become my agent.

Good thing I'm a soft touch. Because this has been an awakening. Every day, I leave my house as my overthinking, neurotic self. I return with a full deck again. All 52. Who knew?

I just have one complaint. I complain because if I didn't, people would think all I do is watch games for a living and have fun. So here's my grievance:

Why are some of you people so miserable?

Really. We're all out for a walk/run. Enjoying the weather and fresh air. And yet so many people walk/run past me and fail to respond to my "hi" or "how are you?" I mean, I get that we're strangers. Two run/walkers passing in the day. But y'all can't say "hello" back? Can you at least grunt?

My experiences traveling the country with UConn basketball alerted me to the concept of the Nasty Northeasterner. I never knew until I ventured out. But travel to other outposts and our overall crankiness becomes more obvious than a billboard.

I mean, I remember one weekend in Lincoln, Neb., site of a women's regional. There were even ushers in the parking garages near the arena. They smiled. Held doors for patrons. Asked how your day was going. Sort of made me smirk, especially given how here, they're less likely to hold doors for you than hope they don't hit you in the ascot on the way out.

So I'm trying to do polite as a habit now. It wasn't always this way. I shared a condo in New London with a roommate going back almost 25 years ago now. We were known, to the people across the hall, as "the nice guy and the mean guy." (I wasn't the nice one).

Now? All this walking/running has made me an unofficial candidate for the Von Trapp family. I smile more. Talk more to strangers. Generally sunny disposition. But I'm not getting back much in return.

So maybe this will be my next therapy session when I'm wunning. Or ralking. Why are we so miserable here? How can you not be happy walking on the Boardwalk or over the Niantic Bridge, with all the beautiful views? Or through the many beautiful neighborhoods in our Shoreline towns? Sure beats living in Detroit, I'd imagine.

I don't know. Maybe I'm losing it. I've officially left the store without all my groceries. But a run/walk on the bridge overlooking the water, getting fresh air, training for a road race or just counseling myself on a walk sure beats a sharp pencil in the eye.

So in case you need me, I'll be the happy guy on the bridge saying hi to everybody from now on. You can say hello back. I won't bite.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro