I wish I could be a runner, a marathon runner. Or at least I would like to tell people I am because that is a respectable athletic activity. It is glamorous and rugged. But I have bad knees and I don't like running, so I guess I won't be signing up for a marathon any time soon. I am a pedestrian and it is about as sexy as it sounds.
I take to the road several times a week around my neighborhood. At first, my walking schedule was forced, regulated. Now, I look forward to it. I listen to books I've missed along the way and music with the questionable lyrics or words (the songs we don't play during carpool). Sometimes I like the quiet.
Along the way, I find a rhythm. I step back from the fence with the two fierce, nasty dogs that used to startle me. I wear glasses when the wind blows; gloves when the temperature drops. I spot empty nests in bare, abandoned trees. I wave at strangers and make way for the elderly couple that is jogging by me, determined and weary all at once. I point the way to Wal-Mart, when a car pulls over, desperate and chuckle over their retail 'emergency'.
I imagine if I ran, if I accelerated my pace, I would miss a lot. So much for being a jock.