the walking cure

Every week she walks with her friend. This has been going on for a long time. Now, in their fifties, they walk with many additional accoutrements besides the simplicity of comfortable shoes. There’s the usual array of hats, sunglasses, sunscreen, Fitbits, and layers of clothing to take off one by one and tie around their waists as the walk warms up. But lately, it’s gotten bad. Her friend has taken up wearing a weighted vest. Her friend jokes about it being embarrassing, but it is embarrassing. She looks like she’s Tom Cruise in the movie Mission Impossible about to rappel down a bank vault, only they are just walking down a friendly neighborhood sidewalk. And she, she has succumbed to the front-worn fanny pack, filled to the brim with various sundry items like water, Chapstick, iPhone, emergency band aids, and tissues, because you never know when the nose will start dripping. Her fanny pack is like an additional butt, but on the front of her body. This is what it has come to.

On a recent morning, they were getting ready to start their weekly walk as she watched her friend strap herself into her weighted chest contraption when she blurted out, You know you look like you’re wearing some kind of sadomasochist bondage gear in that thing. Her friend looked up from her straps, and replied matter-of-factly, Well, you look like you’re wearing a cod piece.

They agreed, in that moment, over peals of laughter, as they had many times before over the years, that they were, indeed, perfect for each other.