Aunt Dot introduced us to power walking thirty years ago, long before it became trendoidish. That Tuesday evening, we all walked down the steps of the rented beach house, a woodsy retreat that the mosquitoes liked even better than we did. It had been a scorching day at the Delaware beach, but miracle of miracles, it had cooled off by the time we’d finished the last of Mom’s meatloaf, potato salad, baked beans, and cole slaw.
Mom, Dad, Gary, Jody, Uncle Bob, Aunt Dot and I began our walk, the sound of loose gravel under our tennis shoes. And off she went – Aunt Dot, all sixty years of her, raced forward, leaving the rest of us behind. She reached the main road, a hundred feet off, long before we did.
“Keep up, children,” she said, turning her head back to us without slowing down, “we need to work off those calories. Chocolate chip ice cream to the winner!”
My mother grunted, but of course. She’d never exercised a day in her life, poor thing, too many cigarettes and martinis. But Dad and Uncle Bob picked up their pace, a bit competitive with each other. Gary and I did the same – just like Dad and his brother, the two of us had to compete. Rush, rush, rush.
So we walked around the neighborhood, or raced around, if the truth be told – Aunt Dot always in the lead, even ahead of us twenty-somethings. Oh, wait a minute – I wasn’t even twenty. But Gary and Jody, frisky newlyweds that they were, late twenties – and just as fast as me. Mom gave up and went back to the house, eager for another gin martini. Dad and Uncle Bob got to reminiscing about Andover, Boston, and vinegar on their baked beans.
That left the four of us, Gary and I going at it – but ouch, I got a cramp. And then came the dark horse. Jody marshaled on forward, picking up her pace rather than losing steam, and then she caught up with Aunt Dot.
We all enjoyed our chocolate chip ice cream that night.
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