One Foot in Front of the Other

While flipping through an alt weekly today I glanced a personal ad placed by someone cliche enough to say that they enjoyed "long walks."

No, no they don't. This person is a twit and has no conception of what "long walk" means. Almost nobody does. For most people a "long walk" is anything further than the mailbox.

I'm a walker. I've been a walker since I was in junior high school. My feet are my most preferred method of transport. I'll go for miles in all weather without complaint or second thought. I wear through rubber soled shoes like a Hummer goes through petrol. I've walked more than ten miles today. (I actually have, that's not an exaggeration).

If you tell me that you want to go for a "long walk" then you better know what you're in for. First, if you're wearing heels or sandals, you're clearly out of your league. Second, you might want to pack a lunch. Third, if you've never looked at a band of wandering Australian Aborigines and not though, "pussies," then you'd best stay home.

When I go for a "long walk" I'm coming back at a totally different time of day. When I go for a "long walk" I have to close my belt one hole along the way. I was the inspiration for that Stephen King story, it's called "The Long Walk" in case you've never heard of it. For me a "long walk" means finding one's self in a different municipality if not a different state. When I get to the far end of where I'm walking they usually speak a different dialect than where I started. Though, I live in Atlanta so, I suppose, I might only have to go a few blocks. I've had a pedometer show the words "you win."

Don't tell me you like long fucking walks unless you're prepared to keep the hell up. And, for that matter, if you can't keep up then you should probably get out of your house more.

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