Exercise in Marlboro Country

We have a constellation of regular walkers who pass our house on their daily exercise route. There are two little 75+ ladies who whiz by like a geriatric juggernaut at 6:00 a.m. each morning. It makes me breathless just to watch their pace.

There's a tall, stringbean fellow who usually appears around 5:00 p.m. wearing overall cut-offs. His pace would be considered a mosey and he carries a big dog whomp-em stick. There's a little blond fellow with wire-rimmed glasses, about 50-ish or so, who never looks up or speaks. He looks pretty intent during his painfully slow "run." The geriatric juggernaut could pass him like he was standing still.

Tonight our neighbor from down the street made her first-time appearance on the walking circuit. She is a leggy blond, 5'8" or 5'9", maybe 110 pounds. Cute as a button, definitely doesn't need to lose weight. She had her hair up in a ponytail, newly purchased jogging togs, and a sparkling pair of new white running shoes. She even carried a huge plastic travel mug like a hardcore runner. She was prepped for sweat.

"Hey!" I call from the porch, "Taking up walking for exercise???"

"Yeah...," she says holding up the mug and a Marlboro Light, "...but I don't much see the point with a beer and a cigarette."

Duh.