34
On a certain street on my bicycle route I often see the same walkers out every morning. We wave, they walk on, I pedal on. There is one woman, however, that displays a bizarre behavior: she walks backward.
When I first mentioned this to Bill, he suggested maybe she's sort of cross-training. Walking backward uses different muscles than walking forward. Maybe Tuesday and Thursday are her walking backward days of her everyday exercise schedule.
This woman, though, is not the cross-training type. She's not the power mom in her spandex and sports bra pumping her arms as she books it down the sidewalk. Neither is she the elderly woman in her trainers and leisure suit enjoying her well-kept body late in life. This woman is in her 60s, always wears a navy blue trench coat and an allergy mask, and always carries a Schnuck's cloth tote bag and umbrella with the pointy thing on the end like a cane. She walks very slowly and carefully (granted, I would too if I couldn't see where I was going). She's always on the same side of the sidewalk and doesn't turn around for driveways or cross-street crossings. She has puffy, dark eyes and keeps her long brown hair loose but inside her coat. But she seems cogent, lucid, with-it. She obviously recognizes me now, although she doesn't wave or smile back at me.
I'm very curious why she walks backward. She doesn't really welcome interaction, though, so I'm left to my own conjectures. Maybe it's an exercise in trust: "A higher power will tell me if I'm in danger; I can trust said higher power to keep me safe even if I can't see where I'm going." Maybe she has some muscle ache that only acts up if she's going forward. Maybe there are hidden cameras capturing people's reactions and broadcasting us to the world at large?
35
36
37
38