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I have a confession. I’m a speed walker. If you’ve walked slowly in front of me in the past, you’ve probably heard an impatient sigh in your ear or you’ve suffered a flat tire on account of me. Please accept my apologies, but I really can’t help it. It’s in my genes. Seriously. My mom is a speed walker. My grandpa is a speed walker. And I’m sure there were many more speed walkers tucked away in my family tree. It’s how we’re wired. If we’re going to get somewhere, we’re going to get there fast. We don’t have the hip swivel, arm-pumping thing down (which I duly took note of while watching the Olympics this year), but our feet move just as fast. Growing up, I’d watch my mom sprint from room to room while she cleaned the house and vacuumed, all so she could get it done faster. My grandpa has been known to leave shorter-legged people in the dust, with his mind set on his destination. And me? Well, some of my friends have vowed not to walk in front of me anymore. Their Achilles tendon’s are still recovering from the flat tires I’ve given them. When we’re in motion, it’s not the slow kind. I’ve recently become more aware of my walking RPM. When I lived in the suburbs, my patience would often get tested behind the driver’s wheel when slow pokes would drag along in the fast lane. (Don’t these people know that the left lane is for passing and not site-seeing?) Now that I live in the city, this frustration has transferred over to the slow walkers who lag along with seemingly no destination in sight. They meander in zig-zags, oblivious to the world as they talk on their cell phones so I can’t pass them on a narrow sidewalk. Or they walk 3-across with their friends or colleagues, so passing them is virtually impossible, unless, of course, I want to play “Frogger” in the middle of the street. I don’t know if I should carry a horn with me or cry out with fake labor pains so I can eeke my way ahead of these people. Or, should I just slow down? Now there’s a thought. But before I sign up for a Flat-Tires Anonymous group to help me in this regard, I first want to thank my grandpa for the speed genes he passed down to me. He’s 92, he just celebrated his 70th wedding anniversary (yes… 70!), and he still plays tennis three times a week. And, he’s as sharp as ever. Come to think of it, my metabolism thanks him too! What traits have you inherited from your family for which you are thankful for? |
Comments
What a good question! I think from my father I got my musical ability - he played an instrument too but his brother was an artist. But more importantly from my mother I got strength. She is a breast cancer survivor - and I never understood the gravity of what that meant until I was diagnosed with MS a year ago. It takes great strength to face things like that - for her it was chemo and not knowing if she would survive it - for me it was the meaning of the diagnosis and the daily injections I take and will take for the foreseeable future, until a cure is found. It's funny, but someone I used to consider a friend thought I was being stubborn and not relying enough on God. I don't know where he thought I thought the strength comes from. God gives you the strength to face your fears, and God gave me the strength to inject every day, even when it was really bad at the beginning. I think everyone's relationship with God is personal and no one should judge it. Live and learn!