Trying to keep up with the walking lady

Ahh, springtime. The time of year when the snow melts, the mud puddles get deep and the winter snowbanks recede to allow the piles of doggy doo to rear their ugly faces. But not all is bad, because we know the rains of April will wash away the dinginess of late winter.

Springtime in the sports world means stretching muscles that have atrophied over the winter months and using the warmth of the sun to help get you limber enough, depending on your age, to go for a walk, a run, or to dodge the many potholes that dot the landscape.

I’ve been mentally preparing for what is becoming my annual challenge — outwalking the pregnant lady.

Many of you may recall my past escapades while being outwalked by a very-pregnant woman. It was embarrassing to know that what little athletic ability I had is now gone. I could sit and sulk, I could do nothing or I could take the challenge and come back better than ever this summer. That is the road I chose.

In early February I started calling coaches, confidants, psychics and even professional walking coaches in order to build a game plan.

I learned a few things. First of all, I needed to physically put in the effort. Second, I had to be tougher mentally if I am to have any chance to overtake the now not-so-pregnant walking lady. Third, I had to be able to play the mind game with her to make it known she wasn’t messing with a walking wimp. Finally, I had to stick to a diet and eat only foods that will help give me energy, strength and stamina.

On the bike

March 1 arrived and my training began. I started riding my bike in the basement workout, err, sitting room. The rides consisted of 15 minutes of casual riding with an intense focus on the television playing Wild and Timberwolves games. Unfortunately, I became engrossed in the games. The next thing you know, I was sitting back on the bike taking a swig of Busch Lite and screaming at the screen when Kirill Kaprisov got injured.

I continued my intense bike training and then added a bit of snow shoveling to help add muscle, but each time I got out in the yard to shovel I found myself shoveling only around the grill and holding my own outside barbecue (yes, even in the snowstorms) and chowing down on steaks and veggie burgers.

My training was not going as well as planned, but at least I was doing something. I was sure that it was more than the not-so-pregnant lady was doing.

I began watching tapes of Dr. Phil, the Maury Show and even old tapes of Muhammed Ali. Why? I needed to get into the head of my nemesis. I needed to be able to act crazy like Ali did before his fights and I needed his confidence.

On the road

Fast forward to April. The weather finally started to warm, and the snow started melting in earnest. I arrived home from work at 5 p.m. and decided I’d head out for my first official walk of the season. My plan was to walk in an area where I wouldn’t see the not-so-pregnant lady, as I did not want her to know my plan.

I took a route I never take, away from our neighborhood. After walking one block and having my Wrangler jeans splattered with mud, I thought I saw someone moving swiftly toward me from two blocks away. I quickly jumped the snowbank and ducked behind a small pine tree.

I couldn’t believe it. The not-so-pregnant lady came running by at more of a run than a jog. She was moving swiftly, almost floating over the potholes. There was no heavy breathing. She was like a machine with arms swinging effortlessly and legs striding out and covering ground with ease. I sat there, lost in my thoughts, until I heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw an old man, even older than myself, telling me to get off his lawn.

Slowly, I stepped back onto the roadway and slunk back home. I walked in the house downtrodden and sad.

“What’s up?” my wife asked. I explained what happened.

Without missing a beat, she said, “Give it up, you’re old. Just be happy you can actually walk without falling down and be happy you’re still in good enough shape to go deer hunting.”

The feeling I had after she made those comments was comparable to how the Grinch felt when he heard the Whos in Whoville singing despite having all their presents and decorations stolen.

I was uplifted.

She was right. No more competing against in-her-prime-not-so-pregnant-lady. I had to change my strategy to one that allows me to use my competitive juices in another area.

What could I do? How would I ever find something that would give me that competitive feeling again? As I was sitting on the couch, it dawned on me. Pickleball.

Now, if I can just find a court where there isn’t a pregnant lady playing, I will be set to go.

Pine Knot News sportswriter Kerry Rodd has been covering Carlton County sports for decades on the radio and in the newspaper. Contact Rodd care of [email protected].