I need a reboot and an upgrade to boost my walking cred
Sometimes walking presents real hazards, like this branch that fell across the fitness path after a storm. Which of course happened at night when I wasn't out there. Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
Most mornings I try to go for a walk. It gives me the illusion of exercise, and it gets my folds to jiggling. Jiggling folds are happier folds.
But after carefully studying my fellow walkers I’ve decided I’m doing something wrong. It’s my low-tech approach to walking. I feel like I need a reboot and an upgrade. I don’t fit in on the Walking Circuit.
Let’s take the issue of my walking attire. I bought my shorts in 1992. Then, they were thick and sturdy. Today, they’ve been washed so many times they’re held together by molecular tension. I also wear a plain white, V-neck tee that can be found only in the Geriatrics Department at Walmart or your finer dollar stores. I slip on a pair of athletic shoes – the last time these shoes had anything to do with athletics was when I took them out of the shoebox that said “athletic shoes.”
As for peripherals, I take one thing: a house key. Oh, and today I took a golf umbrella, which I promptly used as a cane.
My fellow walkers, however, are resplendent in both their attire and their technology.
For instance, they wear the very latest moisture-wicking, heat-redistributing, debit card-draining, skin-tight tops and bottoms in all the colors of every margarita ever invented. The bicyclists are even more intimidating: They wear brightly colored, pointy helmets – picture H.R. Giger’s Alien had it been rendered by Walt Disney Studios. The overall effect is that of a bad acid trip, not that I’ve ever done acid. But I’ve seen enough Jefferson Airplane and Todd Rundgren album covers to get the picture.
Their technology is even more impressive. These people have not only made a commitment to walk; they’ve made an investment. They can’t walk without first jacking into the Matrix. Let’s go down the checklist:
– iPod or some other MP3 device with cable snaking to their right ear: CHECK.
– Bluetooth device embedded in their left ear: CHECK.
– Mobile phone for receipt of those important calls at 6 o’clock in the morning, or texts and/or e-mails that read: “Hay! Wut R U doin? I’m takin a dump! Lol!” CHECK.
– Wrist pedometer that measures their steps, heartbeat, respiration, perspiration, and even lets them program their DVRs: CHECK.
– Phase-plasma rifle in the 40-watt range: CHECK.
When I go for a walk I like to listen to the sounds of birds, or the wind rustling through the trees. Did you know wind makes a different sound through pine trees than live oaks? My fellow walkers would rather listen to Snoop Dog or Rush Limbaugh’s latest ravings. At the very least I want to hear the garbage truck that’s about to mow me down, or the basso growling of a pitbull named Muffy that “would never hurt a flea” according to its owner (as it’s separating your right leg from your torso).
The dog walkers belong to a special breed. Back in the day before people believed the South Pole was discovered by Captain Kirk, a leash was a sturdy metal chain with a leather strap, about 5 feet long, that kept the dog within a comfortable radius of your ability to prevent it from disemboweling passersby. I’m afraid such leashes are now only available in the S&M department of your local adult toy store. Today’s leashes telescope out to 25 or 30 feet, which to my age-befuddled mind renders moot the concept of “restraint.”
I’ve also noticed a kind of age-related schism in the behavior of my fellow walkers. The older walkers – “older” meaning people my age and farther down the scroll bar – will nod and greet me with a cheery, “Good morning!” The younger walkers – “younger” meaning people who wish I’d hurry up and retire so they can have my job – look at me suspiciously and veer wide of my track, as if my jiggling folds might slurp them up in a science fiction horror of digestion.
The bottom line is this: My simple morning excursion has become a source of existential angst. I will never be one with these people until I buy a $3,000 bicycle and rescue a shar pei that speaks Mandarin from a kill shelter.
Whoever said walking isn’t exercise has got it all wrong. It’s HUGE exercise, both physically and intellectually. The jiggling folds of my waistline – and my brain – are here to tell you that’s a fact.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
In this image the author heads out for his first day of school at Royal Oak Elementary just outside Madrid, Spain. Image courtesy of Del Stone Sr.
I try to get up every morning and walk to the Ferry Park Fitness Trail. It’s about a mile through mostly lovely scenery and it gets me fully awake so I can face the day.
Unfortunately it takes me past Elliott Point Elementary School, which always gets my dander up. Hughes Street becomes gridlocked with tiny ladies wearing visors, their hair pulled back into cute pony tails, driving Nimitz-class SUVs. Seated next to them is an even tinier student at Elliott Point.
I see them and think back to a former neighbor. She would drive her chubby son to Elliott Point each morning, firing up the family’s thunderous Ford F-150. With gas now approaching $4 per gallon – and the “little” kid tipping the scales at 150 – wasn’t this an extravagant waste of resources?
I thought back to my childhood. When I started school I walked. It was about a mile as memory serves. Sometimes I walked through snow, sometimes rain. I didn’t melt. I didn’t get kidnapped. I didn’t report my parents to DCF.
What’s wrong with the children – and parents – of today? I felt a blog simmering.
To confirm the distance I contacted my big sister, who’s seven years older. How far was it to our school in Spain.
Her answer? About a quarter-mile.
WHAT? Are you kidding me?
I remember a Lewis and Clark-style expedition each morning, slogging across rough terrain, fighting off wolves, wondering if I would ever reach my destination. Not a paltry quarter-mile. But she’s sure it was a quarter-mile. Which is nothing, of course.
Except there’s the “little” kid, who couldn’t walk a quarter-mile to school but would surely beat my fanny at Call of Duty.
I still think kids and their parents should be made to rediscover the joys of walking. But it looks like I’m no exemplar of that thesis … well, today I am, but not when I was a kid.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .