Some people on this list have written and complained about the problems caused by meanderers on city sidewalks.
These complainers have missed the true menace lurking in tennis sneakers. I am writing today to expose the deep psychological traumas inflicted on me for years by the true scourge of the pathways: the Power Walkers. Pretty much every day, I run around Lake Nokomis. More precisely, I crawl, heave, stumble, and scratch my way around the lake. I run so slow that caterpillars pass me by. Every venture around the lake is a new lesson in humiliation. My already anemic blood turns to ice when, far down the path, I see that the Power Walkers are on the loose. They are walking, and I am, at least in theory, running. Therefore, by definition, I must be going faster than them. My primordial drive demands that I do something to salvage what few shreds of self-respect I have left. I wheeze into motion in a vain attempt to catch up with the Power Walkers. The miles click by, and I am further behind than ever. Finally, I pull even. There's me, on the left: slouching over, sweaty, panting, near collapse, miserable. On the right are the Power Walkers: tall, erect, confident, radiant. Their elbows slice through the air every which-way as they float along the path. Their celestial smiles proclaim that the are fitness bodhisattvas, attaining aerobic nirvana. Many carry weights or push bionic baby buggies, for the sole purpose of humiliating me even more. Somehow I summon my last shreds of stamina, and creep out ahead of them. At last, with the Power Walkers behind me, I can relax. But then Lake Nokomis plays a cruel trick. There are several shortcuts around the lake. As I round a curve, I see to my horror that the Power Walkers that I passed a half mile back are again in front of me and pulling away fast. At heart a couch potato wannabee, I seize every excuse to grind to a dead stop. Any bug, bird, plane or flower that crosses my path demands my detailed and time-consuming investigation. I also know the locations of every fountain, puddle and subterranean spring along the route, and I stop at every one to lap up a few drops of water. But I don't dare do any of these pitstops when the Power Walkers are on the rampage, because if I pull over, even for a second, they will overtake and lap me, and my agony will start all over again. But my most fearful encounters are not with the Power Walkers, but with Viola Carlson, the 90 year old senior aide at the Hale Page Diamond Lake Neighborhood Association. Every day, Viola rides her adult tricycle around Lake Nokomis. And more than once, I have suffered a run-in that goes something like this: Once again I am skulking my way along the lake path. Suddenly, I am blinded by some neutronic energy explosion rocketing by me. As my blurred sight gradually returns, I see Viola and her tricycle accelerating to warp 9 down the path. I am granted a few seconds of quiet reprieve before I am bowled over from behind by Viola's sonic boom. The trees quake, the birds flit away in panic, and I am on my knees, gasping for air in Viola's dust. Jay Clark Cooper. _______________________________________ Minneapolis Issues Forum - A Civil City Civic Discussion - Mn E-Democracy Post messages to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Subscribe, Unsubscribe, Digest option, and more: http://e-democracy.org/mpls
