F. Scott Fitzgerald said,

"There are no second acts in American lives."

Most people think he was crazy.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Because You're Mine, I Walk the Line. (Not Really. Because I'm Chunky, I Walk the 'Hood.)

Last year, I wrote about BV Bootcamp and the rules for walking. And now I'm walking and not just observing the rules (sort of), but getting to see my neighborhood when the sun comes up. And it's really interesting.

First of all, there is the little old guy I like to call "White Baseball Cap." He runs every morning about 9 am. His little legs look like they would snap in a strong wind, but he always waves as he jogs against the traffic. I wave back, from the safety of the sidewalk, as I don't trust cars to avoid my big-butted self.

Then, there are the "Little Mamas." They always walk in pairs and threes, pushing big honking strollers with one or two children strapped in. They chat and laugh loudly, sometimes as if they are forcing themselves.

The group I love is the "Seventies Shorts." The group varies in size--sometimes as few as three, sometimes as many as five, who jog before they go to work. They are young women in their 30s, and they wear those little jogging shorts from back in the day when I was young and fearless, sort of.

"Blonde Audrey" is always interesting. She's very young and very thin, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her skin-tight clothes are head-to-toe black and she wears oversized black sunglasses. I'm of the belief she is trying to channel Audrey Hepburn.

But the best of all are the two old(er) ladies with the Westie. I like them because they are always smiling and never fail to say hello. They seem to be grounded in reality: they wear comfortable clothes and have not attempted to turn back time by coloring their hair.

And I wonder what those people think of me? I know what the "Little Mamas" think-- they tend to look at me as if I am the friendly neighborhood child molester. I want to tell them that once upon a time I had little children I pushed in a stroller, even though it was through a different neighborhood, and that just because they're privileged doesn't mean they're perfect. But they're young--what do they know? The "Seventies Shorts" probably think I need to join them and lose a few. "Blonde Audrey" doesn't strike me as the type that thinks at all.

But the gray-haired ladies? They probably think I'm a pleasant person.
And some days, I am.

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