I am grateful to have a place to walk indoors in the winter. But I have to admit that it’s far from perfect.
Walking is my favorite form of exercise. I try to walk for at least 15 minutes every day, and for half an hour or longer on weekends or vacation days. Walking outside is the best option. I appreciate the fresh air and scenery. Strolling on the beach or through the woods is always a pleasure.
Winter, however, challenges me. I can tolerate cold weather, but ice is scary. Then there are the days when snow or sleet is falling. That’s when I head indoors.
My husband, Paul, and I belong to an athletic facility that has an indoor track. It’s really just wide enough to accommodate two people. Maybe two and a half. It encircles an exercise area with treadmills and stationary bicycles on one side of the central space and a strength-building area with weights and machines on the other. Doors lead off to a spin classroom and a racquetball court.
It’s a busy place.
On the plus side, there is no ice, no snow. It’s not frigid or windy. There are large windows along one wall, so sometimes there is even sunshine.
Walking in seemingly endless circles is, unfortunately, boring. I never think about the time when I’m walking on our local rail trail. I know the spot that marks a mile, or 15 minutes of walking time. That’s where I turn around and go back to get in my full half hour.
There’s another walking path that Paul and I frequent that probably takes 40 minutes. We go in one direction, turn around and go in the other direction, and then head back to our car.
At least we don’t have to count our circuits around the track, where a lap takes a minute. “Ten-oh-two,” I announce as we start. We know we are going until 10:32.
Invariably, at 10:15 Paul asks me if it’s 10:17 yet, or the halfway point. I hate to disappoint him, but I”m always truthful.
There’s usually quite a few people in the room, and I do like to people watch. Yet, I am still bored.
That’s because gyms are curious places. Everybody is into themselves. It’s not like a café or coffee shop, where people are interacting with each other or their laptops. When I’m in such a setting, I like to imagine the relationships between people, or what they might be working on.
At the gym, there’s no wondering. Everyone is striving for a better body.
OK, so once in a while there will be someone who seems to be recovering from an accident, or surgery. I silently cheer them on. On occasion, a team preparing for the Special Olympics has taken to the track. I silently cheer them on, too.
There’s a couple we see from time to time. They exercise together. For example, they line up with their toes on top of a folded mat and stretch up on tippy-toes, then down. In unison. One time I quipped to Paul, “They must be having an affair. They can’t possibly be married.”
Then there are the regulars. One sometimes has long, greasy hair and a distinctive body odor. We rejoiced when he showed up one day with a haircut and a fresh scent. Another is a man who seems to resent our side-by-side presence on the track. I try not to take it personally. But, really, he always has plenty of room to pass us. He is short and compact. Yet, he feels the need to say loudly, “Excuuse meee,” every time.
We enjoy watching the fellow who loves to talk. Recently he kept a younger man and his son captive for a good 10 minutes. The child had enough sense to walk away and find something else to do. I kept willing the dad to say, “This has been fun, but I’ve got to get back to my workout.”
Paul and I are walkers. That’s what we do. So we are mystified by some of the routines that our fellow members put themselves through. There seems to be a thing about walking with exaggerated, stooped steps, sometimes while holding a large wheel-like weight.
If there is one person doing this kind of thing, and only one or two other people on the track, it’s easy enough for us to pass them by. I give myself what I call a “turbo charge” and go full steam ahead around them.
But one day recently there was a man who was walking very slowly, and another who was going at a good clip but who sometimes stopped at the edge of the track to stare at the row of TVs on the wall across from the bikes and treadmills. There were two women walking abreast, taking up the whole track. They were oblivious to anyone behind them. And there was a stoop-walking guy with a weight wheel.
I always lead the turbo-charge, but at one point I met my match. I just couldn’t get myself through the mass of humanity. I didn’t even know where Paul was. I was surrounded, and walking much slower than I wanted to.
Finally I broke free and sprinted ahead to open ground. I knew it was only for a while. But I also knew that spring, and the rail trail, will come. Eventually.
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