deviousways

I am walking in the neighbourhood park. Not for pleasure, but exercise. I am striding along, trying not to puff and pant. Thinking of those damn 10,000-steps-a-day that I never seem to do. Thinking that I must get my cardio rate up, get those endorphins going. Walking and trying to avoid the others on the path. The burqa-clad women around me talk noisily, Some are there to walk seriously, but most are not. They sit there, like beady-eyed beetles, watching, looking, and to my mind, judging. So do the men. No, let me rephrase that. Many people in the park are there simply because they have nothing else to do. Or perhaps this is where they see life pass them by. Where they see what ifs and what might have beens. Where they see happiness that could have been theirs. Where they see lives shaped by both circumstance and choice. In the park, the ones who are not walking desultorily, chat and hang around. The serious runners impatiently overtake the rest of  us slower mor...