On Sunday I spent five hours and 33 minutes walking something like 21 miles, my third time doing such high mileage. Each time I've chosen a beer-serving destination as my dangling carrot. (Beer and pizza never tastes as good as when you burn it off BEFORE you shovel it into your face.) And each time, when we get to our destination--sunburned, soggy, and limping--we look for any opportunity to announce how we got there. Aside from training for my walk, that's really my main motivation for spending my afternoons wearing a fanny pack, a stop watch, and capris that leave nothing to the imagination. And everyone we tell seems to have the exact same response: "Why?"
Not "wow" or "good for you" or even "holy shit!" Just "why?" punctuated with a baffled expression that borders on disgust. I don't want to dwell on this, but I do want to offer this bit of advice: If someone tells you they walked 20 miles to get where they're standing right then, this is the preferred response: "Wow, holy shit! Good for you!"
Anyway, about 13 miles into Sunday's walk, we stopped to ponder a capped pipe sticking out of the ground that was labeled "Latin America." Of the many, many explanations we both offered, my favorite was that it was a vacuum tube like the ones used at bank drivethroughs (in the olden days) to suck in your deposit and spit out a dum dum lollipop. You can imagine where our theories went from there.
I was positively giddy about having such great blog fodder, until I looked up and saw that the dorm building to our right was called "China." And the next was "Europe." And so on. Sadly, the mystery quickly unraveled. It wasn't that we actually thought the pipe lead out of the country. But logical explanations can really kill a mood.
Shortly after that, everything below my waist started to ache from the miles, and not even the constant threat of careless cyclists careening at us at 70 mph seemed noteworthy.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
No pee zone. Thank you.
On Saturday we walked up to the catch the gay pride parade. I must say that compared to the one other time I've gone, it was quite a let down. What I remembered were extravagant floats with thumping sound systems and boisterous, half-naked people of all preferences schooling the crowd on how to properly kick off an afternoon. What I saw were trucks barely covered with scribbled-on, hastily attached cardboard and people with megaphones shouting garbled chants. Of course, we didn't stay for the whole thing; perhaps the good floats had already passed. But from what I saw, I'd give it a C+ on level of entertainment.
What I did find entertaining was a little white sign with black lettering placed neatly on the manicured lawn of an art-deco apartment building. It said: "No pee zone. Thank you."
On a normal day, I would have assumed this was directed at dog owners. On that day, I wasn't totally sure. Regardless, I was struck by the politeness of the sign. I've seen other signs meant to protect precious green grass from death by urination, but they took a much different approach:
Next time, zone wisely.
What I did find entertaining was a little white sign with black lettering placed neatly on the manicured lawn of an art-deco apartment building. It said: "No pee zone. Thank you."
On a normal day, I would have assumed this was directed at dog owners. On that day, I wasn't totally sure. Regardless, I was struck by the politeness of the sign. I've seen other signs meant to protect precious green grass from death by urination, but they took a much different approach:
- "Keep the pee in the park."
- "My lawn is not your dog's toilet."
- "Pick up your dog crap. I'm watching from the house." (Seriously!)
Next time, zone wisely.
Friday, July 17, 2009
An old lady and an ugly wedding dress - at sunrise
I come from a long line of hard-working blue-collar people who think getting up at 6:00 a.m. is sleeping in. I remember more than one instance as a teenager when my dad or grandpa woke me up to ask if I "planned to sleep all day." It was 6:45 a.m. As an adult, I moved three time zones west, which made matters dramatically worse - six years later I still get calls at 7:00 a.m. and they sound surprised that I'm irritated. For better or worse, this is why I'm able to drag myself out of bed for sunrise walks, as I did today.
There are only a handful of reasons why people in my neighborhood are out and about that early in the day:
1. I'm getting old. I know this because I no longer pretend like I'm not power walking when I pass a hot guy. Also, I don't bother to brush my hair or even wash my face before I leave.
2. Dry cleaners always showcase hideous clothes in their front windows. Why? I passed by one place that had a big sign that said: "We tailor wedding dresses." And it had the oldest, ugliest dress-rag I've ever seen, proudly displayed in the window. It probably wouldn't stop me from getting my pants hemmed there. But it stands to reason that their business could significantly improve if they exercised some good taste. Just a thought.
*For those who aren't familiar with this concept, the walk of shame is when you drink too much the night before, usually on a week night, and shack up with someone (who probably isn't exactly a prize). Early in the morning, you sneak out, looking a fright (possibly minus a sock, shoe, or some other hastily abandoned possession), and head for home. My favorite variety is the day-after-Halloween walk of shame, where you're forced to search for your car or, god forbid, wait for a cab while dressed as a now very haggard-looking sexy Sarah Palin or whatever costume you'd worn out.
There are only a handful of reasons why people in my neighborhood are out and about that early in the day:
- They're going to or coming from some job I'm glad I don't have
- They're exercising themselves and/or their pets
- They're homeless and bored, crazy, or scavenging
- They're doing the walk of shame*
1. I'm getting old. I know this because I no longer pretend like I'm not power walking when I pass a hot guy. Also, I don't bother to brush my hair or even wash my face before I leave.
2. Dry cleaners always showcase hideous clothes in their front windows. Why? I passed by one place that had a big sign that said: "We tailor wedding dresses." And it had the oldest, ugliest dress-rag I've ever seen, proudly displayed in the window. It probably wouldn't stop me from getting my pants hemmed there. But it stands to reason that their business could significantly improve if they exercised some good taste. Just a thought.
*For those who aren't familiar with this concept, the walk of shame is when you drink too much the night before, usually on a week night, and shack up with someone (who probably isn't exactly a prize). Early in the morning, you sneak out, looking a fright (possibly minus a sock, shoe, or some other hastily abandoned possession), and head for home. My favorite variety is the day-after-Halloween walk of shame, where you're forced to search for your car or, god forbid, wait for a cab while dressed as a now very haggard-looking sexy Sarah Palin or whatever costume you'd worn out.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Big wheels keep on turnin'
I set my alarm this morning for a time when no one should be awake so I could walk before work. Didn't happen. So I used my time in the shower to remember something interesting that I saw on a recent walk through Balboa Park.
As I was crossing over the bridge into the park, a man on a bicycle was riding on the opposite sidewalk. But he wasn't riding just any bicycle. It was one of those late-1800s-type deals, with a front wheel that's considerable larger than the back wheel. Only it was too new to be an antique, and the man was too normal looking to be a circus performer, so I was left perplexed.
The rider was a smaller man, and the juxtaposition of his short little legs pedaling furiously to turn the giant front wheel made me sad that no one was around for me to point it out to. Adding to it all, he was dressed as if going to a tea party in the rose garden that's at the end of the park. All things considered, it was pretty spectacular for me.
He passed by me two more times, each time headed in a different direction. I could only surmise that he'd forgotten where he'd stashed his time machine.
As I was crossing over the bridge into the park, a man on a bicycle was riding on the opposite sidewalk. But he wasn't riding just any bicycle. It was one of those late-1800s-type deals, with a front wheel that's considerable larger than the back wheel. Only it was too new to be an antique, and the man was too normal looking to be a circus performer, so I was left perplexed.
The rider was a smaller man, and the juxtaposition of his short little legs pedaling furiously to turn the giant front wheel made me sad that no one was around for me to point it out to. Adding to it all, he was dressed as if going to a tea party in the rose garden that's at the end of the park. All things considered, it was pretty spectacular for me.
He passed by me two more times, each time headed in a different direction. I could only surmise that he'd forgotten where he'd stashed his time machine.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Welcome to Pedestrian View
Several years ago, I started running. At first, I could barely go for five minutes without stopping to heave out a lung. Just a few months later, I was running six miles a day. And a few months after that, I was one of those psycho runners who gets up to run at dawn every single day regardless of how miserable the weather is or what shenanigans transpired the night before. But then I hurt my knee, had surgery on it, and - several false starts later - finally accepted that my psycho running days were behind me.
Moving on
It took a while for me to believe people's wild tales of walking for exercise. I mean, come on, I thought. It's walking. But over time I not only realized the physical benefits of walking, but I also came to really enjoy it. No, it doesn't offer the same high as running. But it does give you the chance to slow down and see the world around you from a different perspective. It's almost a blessing that walking can get a little boring (let's be honest - it does drag on a little at times) because it forces you to look around and notice things that you normally might miss.
The "Unique Bed & Breakfast" down the street from the "Unique Nail Shop" and just around the corner from the "Unique Pawn Shop." (I mean, I get why bail bonds places always start with "A," but this I just don't understand.)
The man in the vintage motorcycle waiting to make a left as his bulldog - wearing doggles, a helmet, and a red scarf - looks on.
The woman in the short dress crossing the street. Wait, no, she's a he.
And for someone like me, someone who thrives on discovering the unfamiliar (particularly when the unfamiliar is spectacularly strange), walking leads to opportunity. Each trip creates new and endless opportunities to witness the ridiculous, the bizarre, the amusing, the ironic, and even, on occasion - but admittedly not as often as the bizarre - the uplifting.
A new perspective
And that's what this blog is all about. Sharing my discoveries as I rack up the mileage. It's life - from the pedestrian's view.
Moving on
It took a while for me to believe people's wild tales of walking for exercise. I mean, come on, I thought. It's walking. But over time I not only realized the physical benefits of walking, but I also came to really enjoy it. No, it doesn't offer the same high as running. But it does give you the chance to slow down and see the world around you from a different perspective. It's almost a blessing that walking can get a little boring (let's be honest - it does drag on a little at times) because it forces you to look around and notice things that you normally might miss.
The "Unique Bed & Breakfast" down the street from the "Unique Nail Shop" and just around the corner from the "Unique Pawn Shop." (I mean, I get why bail bonds places always start with "A," but this I just don't understand.)
The man in the vintage motorcycle waiting to make a left as his bulldog - wearing doggles, a helmet, and a red scarf - looks on.
The woman in the short dress crossing the street. Wait, no, she's a he.
And for someone like me, someone who thrives on discovering the unfamiliar (particularly when the unfamiliar is spectacularly strange), walking leads to opportunity. Each trip creates new and endless opportunities to witness the ridiculous, the bizarre, the amusing, the ironic, and even, on occasion - but admittedly not as often as the bizarre - the uplifting.
A new perspective
And that's what this blog is all about. Sharing my discoveries as I rack up the mileage. It's life - from the pedestrian's view.
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