The Walking Dead

Have you noticed the number of old people walking these days? I don’t mean walking versus wheel chairs or being flat out six feet under, though that is something to boast about when you are 87. I’m referring to the sheer volumes of elderly people that I see walking along my neighborhood trails daily. It’s like they are training for marathons. They are in full on velour sweatsuits and pristine white Reebok shoes. I’ve even seen some in sweatbands with water bottles and curiously enough, they usually are carrying a stick.

I don’t know if they’re just trying to show up their slightly younger but much busier counterparts, or if they’re showing off in some old person mating ritual dance , or if they’re on the Jack Lalane diet or what the fuck is up. All I know is that while I sit here writing with my blogger butt getting bigger by the minute, some of my aged neighbors are in the best shape of their lives. Mocking me. Waving hello and saying good morning as they smile and pass by my office window for the sixth time. It’s embarrassing.

I once actually had one of the walking dead offer to “play outside with my kids” since I always seem to be “so busy.” She was a feisty old broad. Maybe I should have simply reciprocated with, “Sure, and I’ll be sure to return your husband to you the next time he gets loose naked outside on my front lawn because you misplaced him.”

I’m not sure if they’re walking towards the light or running from death. What the fuck are they training for? I’d be drunk and driving fast and living loose. I’d be really enjoying those last few years, free love. Hell, I’d be giving it away. But no, they are just running around, walking to their hearts content; in the mall, in my neighborhood, or even at the Target.

They are agile, this bunch. I think the batch I have may be of the Cocoon variety. They are certainly waiting for the mother ship to come back and collect them and they want to be alive to tell all of us slightly overweight and out of shape young people that it’s too bad we can’t come because we would surely exceed the weight limit.

I’ve decided that the next time I see an elderly person walking on the trails in my neighborhood, I’m going to sidle up next to her and ask her, “Where are the you walking to? What are they training for?” Then I’m going to ask her if she has any medicinal marijuana because anyone who walks that damn much in the dead of winter has to be high.

**P.S. No elderly people were harmed in the making of this post. I puffy heart love old people. In fact, I’m thinking of becoming one myself soon.

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About Deborah Cruz

You can read loads more from Deborah (@TruthfulMommy) at her blog The TRUTH about Motherhood and as a contributing writer at Smart Mom Style and the Stir.

Deborah spends her days drinking coffee in suburbia, shuttling little ones and planning social media world domination and occasionally, she sleeps.

She's at Facebook, Twitter, Google + and Pinterest too!

Being brutally honest and irreverent all over the internet since 2009.

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