Walk on the Wrong Side

            Thanks to the new accessory immobilizing my left wrist, I’ve avoided the gym this week.  Yes, I could probably get on the treadmill or the stationery bike.  But after the umpteenth well-meaning “What happened to you?” I might well be tempted to use my cast as a weapon.  Besides I’d probably feel compelled to prove that in spite of my cast I’m still a fit and athletic 60 minus 8 days. Which means I’d end up overdoing it and that would lead to profuse sweating (itch itch!) and/or a new injury (ouch, ouch!).

            So instead I joined my local chapter of The Women Who Walk. It’s not an actual dues-paying club, although it does seem that way on the mornings that I drive off to work. For some reason, The Women Who Walk walk not on the sidewalks but right down the middle of the street.  Typically, they powerwalk in twos or threes or fours, pumping arms vigorously and striding forcefully as if to drive home the seriousness of their exercise. Obviously, I try to avoid them (do I have a choice?), and as I’m rushing off to work, I often think the women are saying: We own these streets; you just use them to get to work.

            Well this week, the streets have been mine. 

            Every morning, I’ve taken my dog for a nice long walk. Yes, he’s the very same dog who caused me to fall in the first place. But as it turns out we both need to take a walk in the morning, and this week, we’ve often ended up at the park. The playground is always empty, and instead, there are lots of dogs and their owners.  And unlike the tiger moms and dads who no doubt bring their children later in the day, the dog owners are a mellow bunch.  We’re quick to acknowledge our dogs’ flaws. For instance, Casey is skittish and doesn’t mingle with the other dogs. Yet no one has recommended therapy or drugs or improving my own dog-parenting skills. I’ve met a few other dogs who are rambunctious or even aggressive, but I haven’t heard anyone talk of Ritalin or military obedience schools.  There’s no competition between us, and no one seems to be reveling in their dogs’ accomplishments (or lack thereof.)

            All in all, I’ve logged at least a dozen miles walking this week. As fast as I’ve walked, it hasn’t felt like exercise so much as a chance to see spring unfold close-up and to walk with different friends and catch up on their lives. I don’t think I’d be happy as a full-time Woman Who Walks, but one of the many things I love about being a teacher are the many vacations.  Some vacations I like to spend in faraway places and others, I love to spend at home, checking out alternate lives.