At the beach, I immediately sat down on the nearest bench to catch my breath.This was hard work! I finally got up and started my walk on the boardwalk. It was a good pace, the kind where I watched the sailboats and fishing boats out at sea, and took in the people sitting peacefully in their beach chairs, reading. I waved to a few friends and strangers. My husband calls my type of walking "meandering."
Thunder. I looked up. Blue skies. Now it came closer and it sounded more like a herd of cattle. Felt like it too as the boards moved under the weight. I froze. Pounding feet thundered around me--three men and two women, older than me but most definitely physically fit. And their shoes didn't scream "discount." They whispered "athletic." "Eat my dirt."
I strolled on. A few more runners passed me. One looked like a candidate for a heart attack. His breathing was labored, his face beet red, and he was soaked in sweat and good intentions. I was relieved. At least if I passed out from walking a quarter-mile an hour, I'd have company in the ambulance.
My feet started hurting. I was sure blisters were sprouting blisters. So much for saving a buck in the shoe department. I decided to call it quits for the day so I called my husband to come pick me up. When we got home, I took off my sneakers and decided that the next time I went for a walk, I'd bring my beach chair and a book. And a large water bottle to make me at least look like I too was a runner. A runner on permanent vacation.