This is how I feel walking with my husband, who is not the strider I am unless pushed by an emergency decided in his own head, but definitely a faster walker than my brother. Walking from the car to the farmers’ market in Vail, one of our many favorite activities we shared on Sundays, had been more of a chore and less fun for me this summer. As he insisted on holding my hand, our pace had to match even before we merged into the crowds of the market. Need I elaborate any further? Just imagine how this conversation must have gone. Before that painful conversation, I tried giving hints, physical hints, gentle tugs, walking just a few paces ahead to bring him along to a compromised pace, because once we entered the actual market grounds of the wall of shoppers and meanderers, I would completely lose the battle of movement. “In death I will move faster than most of these people,” I grumbled. Whether entertaining Lucifer in my reserved suite for five or at the pearly gates with God, I’m a planner. Can’t I be an optimist as well? I will move, bend, twitch, or float faster than any of these people in front of me. Hence my urgency to pick up the pace in getting to the market and when we finally left the market, my hints went unheeded, my hand a captive as therefore am I.
Now, imagine me walking with Bruce in minus speed mode—not an easy feat. “Move your feet, Brucie,” I chanted. This had become our new mantra together.
“Lynne, how about we take a walk?”
“Okay, but what will you do?”
“Move my feet.”
Of course, now that he’d discovered the joy of walking, he also wanted to walk our greyhound, Brenda. Brenda is the smallest of our greyhounds, only sixty-two pounds, not a champion racer like the others, hence the name Brenda, and content to walk at a slower pace. But even she grappled with the lack of speed, sighing deeply, looking at me as if to say, “OMG, really?!” when Bruce got her leash for the walk. They had both learned to compromise. We ended up having to leave him behind by half a block which did make me nervous as Bruce would talk to anything and anyone, not paying attention when crossing the street. He was very understanding and had learned that he must wait at the corner where he could still see us upon our return to him. Brenda had learned that this was a shorter walk, only taking us to the next corner where we turned to come back. Then we hung out on the bench by the lake, feeding the ducks, which they both loved, listening to music on my phone.
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