So, every morning on this beautiful stretch of beach, I head out to get my six miles in. I go from condo to pier to bridge and back. On alternating days, condo to bridge to pier and back. (I'm crazy unpredictably spontaneous like that.)
When I'm done, I pick up my mom and we do another three miles walking. If you know my mom, she's a no-nonsense, quick-stepping, movin' and groovin' lady. As such, our three-mile jaunt doesn't take very long.
If you've ever seen me haulin' ass in an airport, you'd know immediately that I take after her.
Today we were joined by my hubs and Ms. Kati. It's the first time in history the four of us have ever walked together and it was obvious from the get-go that it simply wasn't going to work.
My mom and I don't really chat a whole lot. We're more about getting the task at hand done. This is exercise, dammit, and breaking a small sweat is fine. In fact, with the cooler temperatures the past two mornings, breaking a sweat is a much sought-after outcome and not easy to accomplish. We both stare mostly at our feet ... heads down, looking only far enough ahead to plot our course between tide pools, flat sand and vast deposits of shells.
Hubs and Ms. K? They are on a treasure hunt. Examining every piece of sponge and coral washed on shore by yesterday's winds. They meander, talking, laughing, punching. Walk 10 steps and stop to examine a crab's claw. Then walk for 60 more seconds and find what appears to be one-legged bird. They pick up shells. Lots of shells.
In other words, it takes them FOREVER to get to the pier, our 1.5-mile away turnaround point.
Both teams realize the difference in our approach. And we try to even things out on the way back. But I'm pretty sure there's no group exercise plan on the agenda tomorrow.
Which is perfectly OK with all of us.
Which kind of walker are you?
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